


Crimson & Clover

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: Abaddon - Queen of Hell [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel promised Dean he was safe inside the warded walls of the bunker. The warding could keep out inhuman things, but Abaddon doesn’t use only demons. Now Dean is gone, snatched from the bunker leaving Castiel to find him before she breaks him once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson & Clover

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I finally finished the 5th installment in my Abaddon - Queen of Hell Series. Only took me a bloody year. *sighs*
> 
> RL has not been kind over the past year, but I do hope those of you who had been reading the series are still around. It's brutal and graphic plus my own take on the Mark pre-Season 10.
> 
> Here's hoping it was worth the long ass wait. Enjoy!

Well I met a girl named Lady Cobra  
Her black heart beats crimson and clover

Green Day - Lady Cobra

 

There were countless ways a man could be broken. Each soul was unique in its capability to withstand these ways…emotional, physiological, and psychological. Abaddon had learned from the best when Lucifer recruited her to become one of his Knights. As a young recruit, she became a pupil of Alastair, the Grand Inquisitor of Hell. You wanted a soul to break he was the one you went to. Alastair comprehended the complexities of the human mind and soul in a way no other—outside of Lucifer—had. In the end, he surpassed Lucifer’s understanding. He was to torture and manipulation what Da Vinci was to art, a protégé of incredible talent.

She stood staring at what awaited her on the other side of the one-way glass, lips pursed with pleasure she almost couldn’t contain. The angel had thought she was incapable of getting to Dean. Never underestimate your opponent. That had been Alastair’s golden rule.

Castiel had broken the golden rule.

***

Standing in the center of what had been Dean’s sanctuary, Castiel swallowed hard. He’d promised Dean he was safe, that Abaddon could never enter, but he’d been a fool. After her incursion of Dean’s dreams Abaddon seemed to have dropped off the radar, vanished without a trace, not that he didn’t have his plate full. Between Crowley, the return of Gadreel, and his own confusing feelings about Dean his head had been spinning for weeks. He didn’t want to think about what he saw now in this room; furniture overturned and shattered, weapons torn from the walls, and…

Eyes focused on the floor, Castiel studied the sticky pool of drying blood, close to black with the passage of time. He inhaled, cheeks flush with rage when he scented the shadow of magic in the room. The bunker should have been impenetrable, but this magic was different, older and darker. It was from the time before…when the Leviathan had walked the Earth before their banishment. It seemed impossible Abaddon could have found magic this ancient. 

“It was the Silence before creation.”

Castiel turned to face Gadreel. “Excuse me?”

He moved across the floor, taking in the devastation of the room. “You are younger than I. After the Archangels and before he ignited creation I was brought into being. In the time between there was a silence as he drew power from the eternal well.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel demanded.

Gadreel lowered on one knee, hand stretching out so the tips of his fingers skimmed the surface of the drying blood. His eyes drifted shut as he focused on the texture and feel of its stickiness against his vessel’s skin. “The Silence was the moment when the power of creation was activated for the first time. It’s hard to explain.”

“Then try harder.” He growled.

“A vortex was created, ripples in the well, powerful in its silence. The Men of Letters would not have known the ripples never ceased. They continued to expand echoing through time and space. Those ripples are the source of our ability to bend time and space to our will. They allow us to travel as we do. Someone powerful enough could tap into the Silence, use it to not only enter this place, but also encase it in a bubble of sorts. It is why we never knew they entered. It is also, why we never heard the battle between Dean and his captors.”

Standing Gadreel began to walk the perimeter of the room, searching for something, anything, that would tell him where they’d taken Dean. It was the least he could do, perhaps a step in the correct direction toward redeeming himself with both his father and brother.

“I should have known.”

“How could you have known, little Brother? Our father never allowed the lower echelons to be cognate of where certain abilities originated.”

With a growl of frustration, Castiel slammed his fist into the wall, concrete and plaster cracking with the power of his strength. “And he would let you know? Why?”

“Once I was one of his most trusted, Brother.”

Castiel could have used Dean’s excellent ability at smart-ass comments, but Dean was gone. Abaddon had snatched him right from beneath his nose. He wanted to be angry with Gadreel, yet he was angrier with himself. There was no way to change the past. In fact, he’d told Dean the same thing years ago when he’d forced him watch his own mother make a deal with Azazel. What Gadreel did was far in the past and he could see—despite his anger—the other angel was trying to rectify what he’d done in the more recent past. Even Gadreel knew there was no going back.

“Help me.” Castiel spoke up at last. “Help me save my friend.”

***

Sitting in his kitchen, Cain shucked a basket of corn, deep in thought. The storm of a few days ago confirmed what he’d already known by instinct. He’d prepared himself for the worst, but then nothing had happened, not a single sign since the lightning strike. There was something in the air though; an energy he hadn’t felt since he’d agreed to be Lucifer’s plaything. 

He turned to drop a handful of husk in the empty basket at his feet and every muscle along his arm rebelled. Teeth clenched, he dropped the husk as his fingers went into spasms, burn of hellfire traveling along his nerves. He stood pushing back the chair so hard it hit the floor with a clatter. This wasn’t good. The Mark had only caused pain when Lucifer had burned it into his flesh and soul. In all the centuries since, it had lain silent beneath his skin, more a warning to anyone who chose to face his power than anything else and now twice in a matter of days it burned. 

Stumbling to the fireplace, Cain focused on the framed tintype of his long dead Colette. He reached out long, calloused fingers curling around the simple frame. As he stared into her eyes, his heartbeat settled into an even rhythm. She always had possessed the ability to calm him even now when nothing remained of her outside of a tintype and a distant grave holding bone and dust. A part of him knew she was watching over him from whatever lay on the other side of death.

“Something isn’t right, Colette.” He whisper, one finger tracing the image of her beautiful face. “I know I promised you I wouldn’t kill again. Promised I’d let that murderous harlot go, but something isn’t right at all.”

He swore he heard a sigh, soft and sweet in his ear. Turning he searched the room for some sign it had been her. There was nothing. Vision blurred from suppressed tears he turned back to the fireplace and sat the frame on the mantel with care. He wished some days he hadn’t made that particular promise, but it had been Colette’s dying wish. What kind of man would he have been had he denied the woman he loved as she took her final breath? Not the man she’d always believed him to be despite the atrocities he’d committed.

As he stood there head bowed, lost in memories, the faint scent of rosewater reached his nose. Lifting his head, he felt a ghost of a chill sweep past him the scent growing in strength. He feared opening his eyes, feared what he might see. No matter how much he wished otherwise Colette no longer walked this earth.

Cain, my love…Can you hear my voice?

He shuddered at the sound of her familiar voice. It was simply wind whispering through some crack in the old house. Perhaps, he’d left a window open upstairs or the wind was moaning through the eaves.

He needs you…

There was no way he was hearing his dead wife’s voice. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in spirits. After all, he was the original Knight of Hell, soul sold to Lucifer to protect his brother’s soul from the darkest reaches of Hell. Spirits were real yet he’d prayed after the torment Abaddon had visited upon his wife, she would have found peace in Heaven. He strained his ears and wondered why he was letting the wind bother him so much.

Except, outside there was no wind.

***

Water dripped, sound of it hitting the floor annoying being as Dean was trying to sleep. He’d have to check for cracked pipes or a hole in the ceiling, but for now all he wanted was to slip back into the dream he’d been having, downy feathers and warm skin. He’d been having the same dream for three nights. The dream had started after Castiel had kissed him like a man thirsting for water after a long desert trek. More surprising than the kiss was the fact he’d returned it with as much passion as Castiel had given. There had to be something surreal about Dean Winchester womanizer (let’s be honest he was) and man whore extraordinaire wanting to kiss an angel, particularly one who had the same equipment he did. He smiled as he began to drift again.

“Dreaming of your feathered whore of an angel?”

Dean frowned. This must be a nightmare. He must have fallen back to sleep and the memories of what Abaddon had done were drowning out any chance of a pleasant dream. Despite his damnedest, he couldn’t wake up though. Why was it waking from a pleasant dream was far easier than tearing yourself from the most horrifying of nightmares?

“This isn’t a dream…maybe a nightmare, Dean, but you’re definitely not dreaming. So how about you open those gorgeous killer eyes and give mama a kiss.”

Eyes opening, Dean’s frown deepened as he realized he couldn’t move; arms pinned above his head and legs spread wide, locked in place. He wasn’t lying down, but he could feel something solid against his spine as he began to struggle. A sharp whistle ended his struggles and he looked up to see Abaddon leaning against the far wall. His gut twisted in on itself as he began his struggles anew.

She raised one eyebrow, tongue darting out to caress crimson lips before pushing off the wall with one booted foot. “As much as I love watching your exquisite struggles, I have to say all you’ll accomplish is to damage the goods. And trust me sweet prince that would be a damned shame.”

Dean snarled and struggled harder than before. The warm stickiness of blood began to ooze down his wrists from beneath the leather cuffs that held them tight. He didn’t give a good damn how much damage he did as long as that demon whore didn’t touch him.

“Oh, I’ll touch you and you’ll enjoy it, Dean. Do you know why?”

“Fuck you!”

Abaddon leaned in close eyes flashing obsidian in the dim light of the room. She leaned so close he could smell the stench of sulfur on her breath. “Well, sweetie, thanks for the invite, but I was planning on inviting myself.”

Tongue darting out, she licked from the top edge of his collarbone to the soft indent just behind the lobe of his ear. Dean screamed her saliva acid on his skin. When she pulled away, he was panting, skin sizzling where her tongue left a bubbling raw trail.

Licking her lips, she winked at him. “Tastes like chicken.”

***

An ancient truck halted a few hundred yards up the road from the power station along the river. Driver’s door swinging open Cain stepped from the truck shading his eyes with one hand against the afternoon sun. Above him, the sky was a crisp cerulean blue and clouds airy as cotton candy skittered by in the breeze. One would never guess the most coveted place on the face of the Earth laid deep beneath the ground in this dust speck of a Mid-West town. Cain knew from experience though the most powerful of things often did not meet the expectations of those seeking them.

He reached back into the cab and extracted the sawed off shotgun, lifting it up to slide into a harness along his spine. By now, he was positive the angels secreted away in the bunker would have sensed his presence. Most preternatural creatures and certain humans could sense his power long before he got this close. It had never done them much good though in his darker days.

Slamming the door shut, he moved up the rutted dirt path somehow passing for a road. It amazed him the bunker had been here for close to a century and neither angel nor demon had possessed half a brain to locate it. It wasn’t the vibration of its power that led him here, but rather the lack of energies. For someone as himself, connected with the Earth herself, it was quite easy to locate a vacuum within the natural order.

In his human life, Cain had been a planter, a man who worked the earth with his bare hands. He imagined this part of his life had helped create some of the stories about his origins and the death of his brother. God would have and never had shunned his sacrifices. He doubted God cared either way, being it was a human ritual, one his parents had instilled in both Abel and him from a young age. After he’d killed his brother and walked into Lucifer’s embrace, he realized it was nothing except a pathetic attempt by their parents to win back God’s favor. They wanted to return to the Garden, not that he blamed them. From what he’d heard, it was a place of indescribable beauty and perfection. He couldn’t say one way or another considering he’d never had the pleasure of seeing it. Hell, he would have never existed had his parents not thrown their paradise away. Perhaps it was why he’d lost his own paradise. After all, sins of the father, right?

The faint whisper of wings caused him to smile. He knew the sound well.

“Hello, Castiel.” Lifting his head Cain’s smile widened even further. “And who is your friend? Ah, yes, Gadreel.” He glanced over his shoulder.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“You already know that.”

“No, I do not.”

From behind Cain, Gadreel spoke up. “This, my brother, is Cain…the father of murder.”

“And I am here to help you annihilate the abomination Abaddon.”

***

“How did I get here?”

Abaddon circled Dean, gaze never leaving him, yet not quite staying in one place for too long. Dean felt like a slab of frozen beef, hanging from a freezer hook, and judged for quality by some dick chef a la Gordon Ramsey. A part of him was beginning to wonder if he’d looked at women his entire life with the same expression. If he had, he was ashamed. 

“My people brought you here.”

Biting the inside of his lip, Dean considered her words. It should have been impossible. The Men of Letters warded the bunker against every fucking thing a hunter could imagine and then some. It was impossible for anything to penetrate their defenses from the outside…Wasn’t it? 

“I know what you’re thinking, Dean. And the answer is simple…humans.”

“I’m supposed to believe humans did this?”

She stepped in front of him, eyes shining with wicked thoughts, “Yes, humans. You see the thing about most humans is they would sell out their own mother for a few extra bucks. It was simple to find what I needed and then with a little help from…well here you are.”

“And exactly where is here you demonic cunt?” 

His head slammed back against whatever she’d bound him to the rough surface biting into his cheek and he laughed. Eyes watery, he turned back to meet Abaddon’s furious black gaze. He shuddered at the power he saw swirling in the darkness. For a split second, he thought they’d only managed to defeat her, the first time, out of sheer dumb luck. 

“Oh, that wasn’t dumb luck, sweetie. Pure and simple that was dear Henry’s doing. Of course, if he hadn’t cast the spell I wouldn’t have been here in the first place. You see stupid runs in the veins of the Winchester men, always has, from the beginning.”

“So stupid then why bother with me?” he twisted his wrists again knowing he’d rubbed off most of the skin already, but the pain kept him focused.

Abaddon paused in her pacing. He’d faced way too many demons in his short life, most he could read as if they were open books. It was rare their motives ever changed, even Crowley wasn’t as sneaky as he thought, but Abaddon…Well she was an entire different ball of wax. At first, he’d thought she wanted to kill him, skin him and hang his mutilated corpse from a tree, but then she’d touched him. Consumed by guilt over Kevin’s death he hadn’t possessed the strength to fight her off or maybe he had and just didn’t give a damn what she did.

“You understand why you’re here, right? It isn’t as if I haven’t better things to do, but if I’m to win this war for the throne I need a consort, a second in command, someone worthy to set at my feet.”

Dean busted out laughing, “Like I’d ever turn on my own kind.”

“Really?” she moved closer and chuckled when he flinched. “From what I understand you rolled right over for Alastair, canted those luscious hips, spread your legs and took his cock like a good little whore. Or am I mistaken? Are the stories just that—stories?”

His face flushed red as he bit his lip. It didn’t matter what he said. They both knew the truth. In his forty years in Hell, he’d broken as easy as a flower stem. Alastair had been creative though. Unique in his ability to dig his claws into Dean’s brain matter and make him see things no human should ever see in their lives much less their deaths. The cruelest thing Alastair had done was make him believe Sam had been drug into Hell with him. He’d made him watch as he’d raped Sam repeatedly splitting him open as if he were a rotted melon. He could still hear Sam begging him to make Alastair stop.

Yeah, Alastair knew how to crawl inside your skull and break you with no more than an illusion. Abaddon wasn’t that damn creative. She was nothing, but a grunt, a soldier. Hell’s blunt little instrument and she wasn’t even good at that. If it hadn’t been for the timing, she would have never gotten her hand or mouth on his dick. He shuddered at the memory and lifted his head, eyes focused on his tormentor. If she thought, for one moment, she had a chance in Hell of getting what she wanted from him…Well she had another thought coming. 

“Fuck you, Abaddon, and the hellhound you rode in on!” he spit blood in her face.

She lifted one hand as the bloody saliva dripped down her smooth porcelain cheek, finger rubbing it into her skin with an amused smile. “Blood has always been my weakness, Dean. You see I understood long before I was a Knight the power blood held.”

He snorted in disgust. “So, what…You’re a vampire now?”

“Some believe I was, but then what can you expect of slovenly, uneducated peasants?”

Dean’s eyes widened a tremor in his words. “You can’t be.”

“Oh, but I am, darling.”

***

Castiel sat across the library table from Cain, behind him Gadreel leaned against one of the pillars, eyes locked on their guest as well. Since they’d entered the bunker, none had spoken a word. Cain seemed content to take in his surroundings with what appeared to be awe and wonder although who could really tell, Castiel thought.

“The Men of Letters were an incredible organization although a bit full of themselves.”

It surprised Castiel that Cain was even familiar with them. There had always been rumors of them in Heaven, but rumors were rumors. Not one of the Archangels had believed humans had the capability of collecting such knowledge in a single place. They were nothing except monkeys who wore clothing and had a high opinion of themselves. Even then, Castiel had felt it was sacrilege to refer to their father’s favorite creations as monkeys.

“Why are you here, Cain?” the name almost stuck in Castiel’s throat.

Cain raised one thick eyebrow, lips curved in what could have been a smile. “As I said…To help you destroy the abomination known as Abaddon. Is that so unbelievable?”

On his feet in a second, Castiel slammed his hands into the table. “You are the father of murder; you killed your brother out of jealousy, and sold your soul to Lucifer.”

The smile on Cain’s face vanished, eyes going cold as he leaned forward, standing from his seat until he towered over Castiel. There was a moment when Castiel’s gut twisted in a knot, fear rising in him as he looked into those ice blue eyes. He’d faced down so much evil in his short time with the Winchesters, but he’d never met anyone like Cain. Cain had been infamous for his blood thirst before he’d vanished, thought dead by those in Hell as well as Heaven, yet here he was looking through Castiel as if he were a polished sheet of glass. He wondered if Cain saw all his sins…Every, last one of them.

“I did sell my soul to Lucifer, but history has twisted my reasons. My brother, who I loved more than anything upon this Earth, was an innocent and Lucifer wanted him. There was nothing more that bastard archangel enjoyed more than twisting innocent souls because of his jealousy toward humans. So, yes I sold my soul to Lucifer to save my brother, but as with any decision there are consequences.”

“He promised Abel would go to Heaven, but you had to be the one to send him there.”

They both turned at Gadreel’s words, words filled with compassion and sadness. He stood staring at Cain with luminous eyes for what seemed an eternity and then he cleared his throat.

“The vessel I occupy…his brother sold his soul to a demon to bring him back from the veil. The price of his actions was Hell claiming his soul in one year. It came close to destroying my vessel, knowing nothing he could do would change the path his brother chose.”

Castiel lowered his head. “Your vessel has a name…Sam Winchester.”

“Sam Winchester?” Cain asked, “As in John and Mary Winchester’s youngest son?”

“Yes.” Castiel answered. “Why does it matter?”

“Because,” Cain grabbed his jacket, “I need to speak with him.”

Gadreel frowned, “Why Samuel? It is his brother Dean who the Knight desires.”

Tugging on his jacket, Cain glanced at Gadreel. “True, but Sam was the one destined to rule Hell. He was meant to act as a vessel for Lucifer.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with the situation.” Castiel stepped between Cain and Gadreel.

Cain smiled, eyes shining with a wicked light and Castiel shuddered. “We need to find a new vessel for Gadreel. Sam must be released because he is the only one powerful enough to locate and free his brother from Abaddon.”

“But he is broken.” Gadreel offered. “And angelic vessels are not easy to come by. They must say yes unlike demons and they must have the power in their blood.”

Cain snorted. “I’m aware of that, but I know someone who possesses the power in their blood. He can act as a permanent vessel for you.”

“If I leave Sam though…”

Shaking his head, Cain headed for the stairs. “Sam doesn’t need you, Gadreel. He never did. He was created to hold an archangel, Lucifer, fallen though he was he was still an archangel.”

“What are you saying?” Castiel demanded despite his fear of Cain.

“Sam has always been able to heal himself. He didn’t believe he deserved healing though.”

***

Dean stared at the ceiling of his prison, eyes unfocused. He’d always been able to disconnect from the things he’d seen or experienced in his life. It was the only reason he’d survived this long, the only reason he’d lasted for thirty years under Alastair’s blade in Hell. Dad, he’d been stronger, and never allowed too deep of an attachment to any one person. Dean had though. 

“Sammy…” he whispered beneath his breath. 

“Dean.”

His gaze lowered to where the voice had originated. From the darkened corner of the room, a figure stepped and Dean drew in a ragged breath. “You’re not real.”

Sam frowned at him. “Is that how you justify what you did to me? Pretend I no longer exist.”

“I saved you…you were dying.”

“But I wanted to die, Dean. I always wanted to end it. After Jessica, the visions, Ruby, the demon blood…All I wanted was to do one good thing and you stopped me. You damned me.”

Tears welled in Dean’s eyes. “I couldn’t let you die without trying. He was an angel. How was I supposed to know he’d kill Kevin?” 

“I’m not talking about Gadreel.” Sam growled as he stepped closer. “I knew what would happen if I completed the trials and then you came in like the shining knight on his trusty steed to save ‘poor little Sammy’ again. I never wanted you to be my protector.”

“But, Dad…”

Sam’s eyes flashed gold in the dim room. “That fucker didn’t have a clue. It’s his fault we’ve suffered our entire lives. Just because he couldn’t let the whore of a hunter who was our mother go!”

This wasn’t Sam. He knew it wasn’t. Abaddon was trying to get inside his head, manipulate him into believing his brother was a monster. A heartless bastard from the get go and he would never believe that…Never.

“Don’t you talk about Mom you sick shit!” Dean screamed. “You’re not my brother!”

Sam leaned in close, lips curving in smirk. “Aren’t I, Dean?”

“No!” he roared in anger. “Sam isn’t here. You’re just a twisted, fucked up illusion. Cut the crap, Abaddon! You want me then do it yourself. You leave Sam out of this.”

The image wavered for a moment as Dean focused on what was real. The walls and the cross binding him…Real. The pain he felt in his wrists, the heat and stickiness of his blood was real, but this twisted illusion wearing Sam’s face was far from the truth. He refused to make this exercise in madness any easier for Abaddon.

“Get your scrawny demonic ass in here, Abaddon…Or should I call you Alžbeta?”

Sam vanished in a swirl of smoke leaving Dean alone once more.

***

“He knows your human name. How could he know?”

Abaddon stared through the glass at her prisoner ignoring Ophelia. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter you fool!” Ophelia snarled. “Names hold great power and now that he knows yours he must be destroyed.”

Turning on Ophelia, eyes flashing black, Abaddon spoke through gritted teeth. “I will not destroy him. He was destined to become my consort.”

“Was he? Or did you choose the wrong brother?” 

Her eyes burned bright as a candle’s flame and as hypnotic. It took all of Abaddon’s strength to tear away from her gaze. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Dean was meant…”

“…To be the vessel of the archangel Michael. His brother Sam was meant to be the vessel of your father.”

“Lucifer did not create me.”

Ophelia drifted closer, eyes shining with a light that made Abaddon nervous, although she would be hard-pressed to admit it. She’d knew what Ophelia was from the moment they’d met, but knowing and understanding were two opposite things. Cain had warned her about getting involved with shit, she possessed no concept of, but she’d always believed she understood. The power Ophelia carried was something she required. Between Ophelia and the Witch, there was no way Crowley would keep Hell clutched in his grubby hands.

“Oh, but he did, my dear. He selected you for the potential he saw in you and left you in Cain’s capable hands. Did you learn nothing when your brethren were destroyed by their own leader?”

Abaddon turned back to the glass, focusing on Dean who was screaming expletives at the top of his lungs. She had no doubt she’d chosen wisely. Most demons had told her Sam was the smart one that Dean was only the muscle, yet she knew better. Would Sam have discovered her human identity so quick? She doubted it. Most people underestimated Dean when it came to his knowledge, but the one person who hadn’t was his father. John had left his journal to Dean when he’d went after that idiot Azazel and it was Dean who’d killed Azazel in the end.

“Yes, I’ve learned a great deal.”

***

Standing at the edge of a lush green pasture, a lone man watched as the sheep and cows grazed the field. A light breeze stirred the tall grasses, blades parting on occasion to reveal a smudge of crimson among the sea of green. This place made him feel closer to God. It always had. There was a peace and a belonging he could never quite explain to other people…Colors, brilliant enough to blind the eye, gentle breeze blowing through dark curling hair to caress his sun-kissed skin. This place was like a lover to him; one who waited, no matter how long, for his return.

He propped one boot on the split rail fence, fingers curling around the rough wood and inhaled the scent of clover blossoms dotting the lush prairie grasses. He’d always known deep down in his soul his destiny would find him here. When or even how he couldn’t have said, but he’d known from the moment his mother had brought him here.

“Amadis, it’s been a long time.”

A gentle smile crept across full lips, but he didn’t turn from the field in front of him, “Yes, compadre.”

Cain moved to the fence, mirroring Amadis’ pose, eyes searching the field. “How is your mother?”

“Still as hot-blooded as ever.” he chuckled as he turned to face Cain. “And you?”

“Discovered at last I’m afraid,” Cain replied.

Lifting one hand, Amadis ran fingers through thick dark curls, brushing them from caramel eyes with one smooth gesture. “I had a dream of angels and devils…I knew I had to return here, but I did not understand why until now.”

“Are you ready?”

“Does it matter if I am?”

Cain shrugged. “I suppose not.”

With a wide smile, Amadis headed to the road behind them and the Harley waiting there. “Then lead the way, Cain.”

***

“When I walked the Earth as a human I was ruthless. Even as a child, rage filled my heart and my parents believed my behavior uncontrollable. They tried to solve it by selling me out as a bride. My human husband was a warrior, much like you, and he understood the part of me lying beneath the surface, the one that compelled me to feed off the blood and suffering of others. But eventually I lost him to battle and became a widow with more power than any woman had a right to in those days.”

Dean glanced up at Abaddon, eyes hooded, “Boo-fucking-hoo, poor little soul sucking demon bitch.”

She laughed, lifting her hand, eyes going black. Stepping closer she reached out, grasping Dean’s chin, grip tight as a vice, nails digging into his skin to draw blood. “There is far too much you don’t understand about the Knights, Dean. We were not simple demons. Lucifer handpicked us for many reasons. He picked me for my bloodlust and the exquisite gifts I possessed as a torturer when I was human. Lucifer told me I was one of the darkest human souls he’d ever met. I was unique. I was wicked and twisted, but not by his hand or any other.”

“Lucifer probably wanted to fuck you. He was one slick son of a bitch.”

Abaddon smiled. “He didn’t have to be slick to get in my panties. On the other hand to get in your brother’s he had to pull out all the stops.”

“Bitch,” he growled.

Clucking her tongue, Abaddon slid her hand down Dean’s throat, along his collarbone to one broad shoulder, and up his arm. Her fingers traced patterns in the blood trickling down his arm. “Why is it you have such a colorful mouth? All those misogynistic names for women…Bitch, whore, cunt. Could it be all that pent up anger you have toward dear departed mommy?”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me or my family.”

“Oh, but I do, sweetie.” Drawing back her hand, she held it in front of Dean’s face. “Did you know one of the special gifts of a Knight of Hell is the ability to change the meat suit they possess to whatever they require?”

As Dean watched in horror, Abaddon’s fingers extended, nails turning into razor sharp blades. Lowering her hand, a single bladed finger traced the outline of his cock through his jeans. He closed his eyes and waited for her to slice his dick or balls off. Hell for all he knew she’d filet his dick and use his balls for earrings, he wouldn’t put either of those options past her. He sucked in a deep breath as the blade slipped beneath the tail of his shirt, material parting as if it were hot butter.

“Setting aside what I do or do not know about your family for the moment…” she hummed to herself as her bladed finger slid higher. She paused at his collar and raised one eyebrow. “I do know one thing. You are wearing far too many clothes.”

***

Standing in the front yard of the old farmhouse, Castiel stared up at the night sky. The profusion of stars scattered across the blanket of rich, dark blue reminded him of the night his brethren had fallen. His heart ached as it hadn’t in his entire existence until he’d become human he hadn’t understood. The agony of failure, the bitter taste of defeat, and then there was loss. Loss led to guilt sometimes even when logic dared to explain the loss was something out of your hands. Waiting here for Cain seemed pointless. Dean was still out there, somewhere, in Abaddon’s hands and what he’d seen inside Dean’s head provided little comfort.

“You love him.”

Castiel continued to stare at the sky, each star winking at him as if a candle’s flame disturbed by some cosmic breeze. “You lied to him.”

“If I hadn’t his brother would have died.”

“Why chose Ezekiel as the lie though?”

Gadreel sighed, footsteps soft against the sagging wood of the porch stairs. “Ezekiel was all I wanted to be, all I aspired to be. He was perfection in our father’s eyes. I on the other hand proved myself a disappointment and a failure. He gave me a single job and I failed him. Do you understand how that feels, Castiel?”

As he considered Gadreel’s question, the silence grew between them only disturbed by the night wind cutting through the trees surrounding the house. In the wind was an unnatural sound one Castiel believed resembled a voice of desperation. He searched the horizon unable to identify the sound or its origin.

“A spirit.” his companion whispered.

Castiel turned to face Gadreel and the expression he glimpsed on the all too familiar face silenced anything he might have said. No longer was this about whether he understood Gadreel’s motives, but rather it was about releasing the anger he felt toward the other angel and seeing what he saw. Focusing his power, the air began to shimmer and flicker with what he knew to be souls. There were hundreds, thousands of them, stretching as far as he could see. They seemed held back by something he couldn’t quite identify though.

“The dead,” Gadreel moaned in grief. “When he locked the gates of Heaven it wasn’t simply against the angels. It was…”

“…against the human souls who died after.” 

Tears welled in Castiel’s eyes as he thought of Kevin. If it were true, Kevin was one of those lost out there as well. The boy deserved better than this, all of them deserved their promised reward. Before he could voice his thoughts, a single soul drifted from the crowd. She was dressed in late 19th century clothing, dark hair falling in full thick waves around her shoulders. Something in her eyes spoke to Castiel and he wondered whom she was, why she was here instead of beyond the veil in Heaven where she belonged. She seemed to shine with a pure light of forgiveness and beauty.

“My name is Colette.”

He blinked at her words then turned to Gadreel. “Can you see her?”

Gadreel nodded, wonder and joy shining in his eyes. “She is one of the Guides.”

“Guides…” Castiel questioned. “Our father allowed such a thing?

With a gentle smile, Colette drifted forward. “There are spirits who refuse to leave the earthly plane and then there are ones like myself who cross the veil, but chose to return to watch over those we love. We are Guides, not Guardians as some angels are, but Guides.”

“Do you speak for them?” 

She drifted closer, head tipping as she studied Gadreel over Castiel’s shoulder. “No, I am here to watch over the man I loved in life and all his descendants.”

“Cain.” He replied glancing toward Gadreel. “You loved Cain?”

Eyes focused on Castiel’s confused expression she reached out, hand sweeping over his shoulder to leave a chill along his vessel’s skin. “Is it so unbelievable that Cain is deserving of love? He was once a man who plowed the earth and watched over his family…One who made the ultimate sacrifice to save his brother from the flames of Hell.”

Castiel lowered his head, wind ruffling his hair. When confronted by this woman with the face of an angel, he realized there was so much he didn’t know. He’d always prided himself in being one of the educated among the soldiers of his garrison. There was that word again…Pride. Human pride had led to his fall more than once. He’d learned nothing from his failures though. 

“Do not curse yourself for your all too human foibles, Castiel.”

He glanced up at Colette, eyes narrowed. “How did you know my name?”

Smiling she drifted back into the mist of lost souls. “All things my husband knows…I know. Ask him about the prophecy when he returns with Amadis.”

She faded away along with the others leaving only the silence of the night behind.

***

Snarl twisting his face, Dean bit the inside of his lip as Abaddon slid her razor tipped fingers down his naked chest for what seemed like the millionth time. He knew she wasn’t that stupid after all he could only lose so much blood before he went into shock and then died. This wasn’t Hell and he had a physical body this time instead of like his time with Alastair.

“Just admit it…” she made a sound caught between a cat purring and fingernails on a chalkboard.

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Admit what? That all I’ve ever wanted was some psycho demon bitch to molest me. Don’t think so, sweetheart.”

She paused, tip of a single finger circling his nipple. “This can end anytime you see fit to do as I want. Why is it so difficult for you to comprehend? I’m not like the rest of these idiot demons who believe you’re simply the grunt. When I learned of your time with Alastair I realized he was the only one who saw the truth hidden deep beneath the surface.” 

“Delusional much, gingersnap!” he growled.

Eyes narrowed, she slid her nail across his nipple drawing blood. Dean clenched his teeth, hissing beneath his breath. You had to give Abaddon an A-plus for persistence, yet he wasn’t about to kneel at her feet and become her pet. He wanted to be free of her tainted touch, free of the torture she was levering on his soul. 

Abaddon leaned in close, tongue sliding across his bleeding nipple and he hissed. “Oh, Dean, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I never wanted a pet. Although, the image of you kneeling naked and willing between my thighs…” she purred in delight. “That image is delicious.”

“Ain’t going to happen,” he snarled struggling against his bonds again.

Without a word, she lowered to her knees, clawed fingers tracing through the blood trails down his chest to the waistband of his jeans now black with spilled blood. Her hand shifted back and she popped the brass button, sliding down his zipper as he clenched his teeth. None of what she’d put him through made a lick of sense. Why chose him? He wondered. Of all the human men in the world why pick the one who hated her and her kind so fucking much he’d beheaded her at one point. 

She tugged down his jeans and underwear in one swift motion, shredding the material as she smiled at what she found. Despite the obvious pain he was in Dean was hard, erection thick and pulsing with the sweet scent of blood. As a human, she’d tortured hundreds, maiming, mutilating and raping them. It mattered not if they were men or women, yet history remembered the women. Perhaps, it was the era of her life. Considered viral, stronger than women were and so there could be no evidence she’d controlled other men as she controlled Dean Winchester now. 

Grasping his cock, she slid her tongue from root to tip, relishing the shockwaves of pleasure coursing through his muscles. She smiled and then swallowed him whole, hollowing her cheeks as she bobbed her head in a smooth steady rhythm. Above her, she could hear his grunts and moans as he tried to stop the inevitable. Had her mouth not been full she might have laughed. Lowering her free hand, she reached between her thighs and began to rub at her crotch beneath skin-tight leather. She moaned around Dean’s cock, eyes rolling back in her skull, and nipples peaking beneath her tee shirt.

Riding the wave of power she thought back to a distant memory and wondered what Josie would think about what she’d become. The naïve human woman and her unrequited love for a man she would never have had given Abaddon the perfect meat suit. Josie had been virginal, sweet, saving herself for the right man and now her body had become a wonderland of whorish delights.

She pulled back and stood, Dean’s cock slapping against the firm, flat plan of his stomach. Darting to the side, she pulled a lever and the cross he was bound to flipped back leaving him staring at the ceiling. Dean knew then what was coming, but his traitorous body didn’t give a damn. Before he could protest, she was on top of him, stunning and poisonous in all her naked glory like a cobra ready to strike. Knees on either side of his trembling thighs she leaned forward to grasp his chin, forcing him to look into her obsidian eyes.

“I’ve waited long enough.”

It was all she said, it was all she needed to say.

“Damn you to Hell,” he spit between bloody lips.

With a smile, she reached down grabbed his cock and guided it up into the slick heat of her body, back arching as he speared her open. She began to ride him speeding up as she lifted her hands, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples. Laughter rose up in her at the feel of him pulsing inside her. It was far beyond anything she might have imagined in the beginning. His hips twisted in a desperate attempt to free himself from her body and at the same time, he wanted to fuck deeper into the heat that engulfed him…mind, body, and soul.

Some part of Dean’s mind wanted the violation of his body to end. He wondered if anyone was even looking for him. Did Castiel know where to begin? How long had he been gone? No matter how many questions he asked himself though he couldn’t escape what was happening to him. He clenched his eyes shut and began to pray in hopes Castiel would hear him. 

Abaddon leaned forward, breasts brushing his heaving chest, and licked his cheek. “Pray all you want, Dean, your angel won’t hear. He and the others will never find you.”

He bit the inside of his lip and tried to ignore the feel of her muscles milking him. It had been too long since a woman had touched him and even though he understood what Abaddon was in reality, she was still a woman physically. 

“Castiel, help me…” he moaned as he spilled seed inside the demon above.

***

Morning was dawning as Cain’s ancient truck appeared on the horizon. Behind him was what Castiel knew to be a motorcycle, but the man riding it was no one he’d seen before. He descended the porch stairs leaving Gadreel where they’d been sitting without a word. Gadreel would follow, he knew this without a doubt, but he cared not either way. As his feet settled on the dusty earth he could feel the vibrations from the rumble of the motorcycle as it swept by Cain’s truck and halted a mere four feet from where he stood. The energy he sensed sweeping across the space between them seemed familiar and yet…

The man kicked the stand out and dismounted, pulling the helmet he wore from his head. A waterfall of dark curling hair fell around his broad shoulders as his golden brown eyes focused on Castiel. 

“Hello, Castiel.” He spoke words accented, but clear as he offered a smile. “My name is Amadis. I’m here to save, Sam.”

***

“Dean is my priority.” 

Castiel glared at Cain’s back as the other man stared out at the clouds boiling on the horizon. The storm had ridden in on Cain and the stranger’s tail not even fifteen minutes before. It wasn’t what Castiel had been expecting and his fear for Dean had made him less than hospitable toward…Amadis was how he’d introduced himself.

“You don’t think I know that?” Cain growled. “It was why I went in search of Amadis. He’s the only thing that can save you and your precious Dean from that bitch Abaddon.”

His gut twisted at the mention of the demon, which snatched Dean from beneath his nose. God only knew where he was or what horrifying twisted things she was doing to him. She seemed determined to claim Dean for herself. Why she had…?

“You know the answer to that particular question. Why you ignore the obvious is beyond me, but then angels always seem a bit dense. Can’t seem to see what’s right in front of you even if it’s smacking you upside your celestial heads.” Cain turned and faced him at last, gaze cold as an arctic blast. “You say you want to save Dean, but do you really want to save him?”

Fury welled up inside Castiel as he moved closer to Cain, fists clenched and eyes aglow. Cain didn’t even flinch, gaze never straying from his face, and he wondered what Cain had faced in his long life. Had he faced down angels? Was that why he seemed unfazed? Had he murdered angels?

“The answer is yes. I’ve faced down more angels, demons, and creatures than you can ever imagine.”

“Then why should I trust anything you say?”

Cain raised one eyebrow in amusement. “Why should I trust you?”

“I’m an angel.” Even as the words slipped past his lips, he knew they were a moot point.

“Who has a demon working with him which isn’t the first time…Is it?”

The truth was harsh and Cain was right. Yes, he was an angel, but evil had tainted him. To be truthful they’d all been tainted with evil Sam by Azazel, Meg, Ruby, Lucifer and now Gadreel, he with the Leviathan and Crowley, and Dean with Hell’s divine torturer Alastair. None of them had made it this far without being tainted…Sam though more than the rest of them.

“I want to save him, Cain.” He whispered beneath his breathe. “I’ve never wanted to do anything else since I laid eyes on his soul in Hell.”

Cain nodded as understanding slid through the depths of his eyes. “You’re afraid God will condemn you for loving a human.”

Staring out across the storm swept fields Castiel shuddered. “It is forbidden.”

“No,” Cain replied. “It was forbidden for the celestials to procreate with the humans. God wanted your kind to love the humans.”

“Not this kind of love. Not this wanting.”

Castiel felt the heat of Cain’s hand settle on his shoulder and his first reaction was to pull away, yet he didn’t. He closed his eyes and accepted what comfort he could from the touch of the former Knight. Cain understood love more than Castiel imagined he ever could. He’d damned himself both for the love of his brother and his demonic soldiers who he had murdered for the love of a human woman…

“Colette.”

Pulling back, Cain spun Castiel around eyes burning with anger. “What did you say?”

Castiel blinked. “Your human wife…her name was Colette.”

“How did you know that?” he demanded.

“Because, she told me,” head tipped Castiel studied the man before him. Had he truly not known the spirit of his wife was watching over him?

Cain’s eyes filled with grief. “That’s impossible. She’s been dead for over a century…”

“By that line of logic both you and I must be impossible as well.”

He knew Castiel was right, yet it bothered him. The angel wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already known. Colette had sent him to seek out the angels locked away inside the bunker, her whispering in his ear of a man who needed his help. At first, he’d believed Sam required his help and although the younger Winchester equaled part of the equation, his brother was the one. Abaddon had come to him for a reason. She always had a reason. It was inevitable.

Glancing up at the growing storm, Cain scented the air, eyebrows drawing together in irritation. He could smell her stench on the growing wind. She’d come to see him, taunted him, and then vanished quick as she’d appeared. Then she’d managed to snatch Dean Winchester from a fortified bunker warded to the damn gills without two angels or a demon noticing before it was too late. 

“You’re right.” He growled deep in his throat. “I’ve always known she walked with me. I simply didn’t want to believe she wasn’t at peace in Heaven.”

“And what do we do now, Cain?”

He turned back to Castiel with a wicked smile on his face. “Now we get Gadreel into his new vessel and we rescue Sam’s brother.”

***

Every inch of Dean’s body screamed in agony.

He didn’t want to remember how it had betrayed him or the way it welcomed the touch of Abaddon and the horror she’d visited upon him. The pain couldn’t have been worse, even if she’d flayed him alive, which Alastair had in Hell.

Trying to move sent waves of liquid fire through every nerve ending beneath his abused skin, so he remained, still and eyes closed as he prayed for the angel he doubted would come. From the moment he’d witnessed Kevin’s death at the hands of Gadreel he’d known he was damned. Kevin wasn’t simply an innocent kid; he was a chosen prophet of the Lord, and being the source of his death was like being the centurion who’d killed Christ with his spear. Dean laughed as that particular thought drifted through the darkness of his mind. The spearhead he’d so nonchalantly tossed aside in the bunker when they’d first discovered the place, the Spear of Destiny. He should have paid more attention when Pastor Jim had told stories to him and Sam when they were kids. Should have known those idiotic Men of Letters would have tracked down something that significant. 

The sweetness of clover infused his senses drawing him from the pain he suffered for a moment. A gentle yet icy touch on his fevered brow followed the scent and he wondered if this was it. If he were to open his eyes this very moment would he see Tessa’s dark eyes looking on him with compassion. She’d been the one sent to reap his soul years ago and then later she was the reaper he and Sam rescued from Alastair. More recent, she was the one who’d answered his call to Death when he sought to rescue Sam and Adam from the Cage. By then though, his meddling with the natural order had made her not as forgiving of the Winchester stubbornness.

“I am no reaper, Dean Winchester.”

He struggled to open his eyes when the voice—gentle as the touch—tickled his ear. Blinking he struggled to focus on the kind visage hovering above him. A woman with dark waves of silken hair and eyes so compassionate the urge to weep rose in his tortured soul.

“Who…?” he managed to force from a throat abused by screams of agony.

She smiled, cold fingertips grazing his bruised and bloody cheek. “Colette.” She whispered. “And I am here to help you find your way back home.”

***

Gadreel stood across the kitchen, leaning against the counter borrowed eyes locked on the stranger Cain had invited into their midst. It was the last thing they’d needed, another human. And yet, there was something divine in those eyes, which refused to ignore him. He could sense Sam’s soul whispering in his ear, begging for release so he might save his brother from the cruel clutches of the demon whore Abaddon. 

“Who are you?” he questioned.

The young man smiled at him, “As I said Amadis.”

He frowned. “I know your name. What I wish to know is what you are and why are you here.”

“You know the answer.” He tipped the bottle to his lips and swallowed the last of the beer. “All you have to do is open your eyes.”

Gadreel contemplated the non-answer of the stranger stomach twisted in a knot. He recalled his confinement in the dungeon and those who were like himself; angels who had done the unthinkable yet spared the punishment Lucifer had received. They’d whispered among themselves when the guards were out of sight, telling stories of the war, and the fall out afterward. They told stories of those among the human race who held the gift (or curse depending on who told the story) to act as vessels for the divine. There were few who could act in this way and they said their power originated from their bloodlines.

“You are a vessel.” He offered at last.

Amadis nodded, long slender fingers picking at the label of the now empty bottle. “Yes, I am.”

“And you are here for…”

“I am here for you, Gadreel. Sam Winchester is not for you. I am your true vessel.”

“Sam cannot survive without me.” He straightened his spine, eyes narrowed.

“He can and will, Gadreel. You are simply scared of what will happen if you vacate his body.”

He wanted to be angry with Amadis, but the young human was right…He was terrified. From the moment, he’d discovered himself free of Heaven’s dungeon he’d started running. He was positive the guards would come, bring him back to the place he’d come to know as his own personal Hell. And then he’d heard Dean Winchester’s prayer, found a way to hide from his pursuers. 

In his sorrowful attempts to hide from his well-earned punishment, Gadreel had lied, murdered, and destroyed a delicate balance between things of which he possessed no knowledge. He’d allowed Metatron to talk him into becoming the hand of the other angel’s childish vengeance as he had allowed the Serpent into the Garden.

“Castiel must be here in case you are wrong.”

Amadis raised one eyebrow. “I’m not.”

“So you keep saying.” Castiel spoke up from the doorway.

“Yes, and you keep questioning my words. Does the assurance of Cain mean nothing to you, angel?”

Castiel knew Amadis was testing him, dark eyes boring into the very essence of who he was. Eyes narrowed he stepped aside allowing Cain to enter the room. Cain glanced at Amadis and then Gadreel, expression emotionless. He’d murdered his fair share of angelic vessels in his time as a Knight of Hell, he wasn’t proud of his mistakes, but part of his job was to battle the heavenly upstarts as Lucifer had called them. During the war before Michael had cast Lucifer into the depths of Hell, locked away in a cage conceived for him alone, Cain had followed orders like the soldier he was. The gifts the Mark had cursed him with were many and among them was the ability to know a vessel. It mattered not if the vessel contained an angelic being or not. Lucifer instructed him to destroy them on sight.

“He is a vessel.” Cain replied. “A special vessel much as Sam and his brother Dean are.”

Gadreel glanced at Cain, fear shining in his borrowed eyes. “What of Samuel?”

“As I said before…He has the capability to heal himself once you have vacated his body.”

“But, what if…?” Gadreel began, but Castiel silenced him with a single look.

Tension rose in the room thick enough to slice as Gadreel faced off against Castiel, their eyes shining with holy fire. Neither gave an inch as Cain and Amadis watched with interest. Gadreel was far older than Castiel, yet the younger angel had an aura encircling him even Cain knew could mean trouble if they didn’t retrieve the human he’d lifted from Perdition. 

“Enough!” Cain roared.

The light faded in both their eyes as Cain’s voice reverberated off the walls of house. Neither looked pleased, but at this point Cain did not give one good damn what either of them thought. He tired of playing babysitter for two celestials having a bitch slap fest or a pissing contest depending on your preference. They needed to retrieve Dean Winchester…he needed to retrieve Dean. There were no other options now Abaddon had found him.

He moved forward, steps steady and firm as he looked into Gadreel’s wide eyes. “You will vacate Sam Winchester’s body, scared or not…Do we understand one another?”

Gadreel swallowed visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “How do I know Amadis will be capable of containing my power?”

Eyes narrowed, Cain snorted. “Trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?” he retaliated.

“Not really.” Cain replied.

***

“She has bound you to this place. It is no more the truth than a dream. You must fight for your freedom, Dean. Hell does not own you until you fall.”

“I’ve already fallen.” Dean whispered.

There was a faint sweet breathe of air against his cheek. 

“No, not yet, Dean. Her touch was against your will, an abomination to what you were destined to be. You were born to be a celestial vessel, your bloodline pure and powerful. Abaddon seeks to manipulate you, break you, and end your existence as a man. She seeks a consort as evil as she.”

Dean whimpered as he tried to move, metallic chorus of chains filling his ears. This woman whoever she was had revealed he remained trapped. Only his mind had drifted away from the truth, created a dream of clover to overshadow the stench of blood. He forced his eyes open and focused on the cold stone of the prison surrounding him. 

He was no longer strapped down to the cross. He was lying on damp earth in a dark place, torchlight dancing at the edge of his vision…A prison of his own making if he were honest. Had he only fought harder against Abaddon’s advances he wouldn’t be laying here, broken version of the man he once thought himself.

“She only has the power you grant her as all demons do. She believes herself above reproach, powerful and perfect. She is wrong, Dean, but she has always refused to accept the truth.”

Blinking against the flickering light of the flames, Dean inhaled deep the scent of damp earth reminding him of an open grave on a storm swept night. His heart ached with the desire to rise in flight on wings of air and light, soul fractured by the memory of a sweet unfettered kiss from an angel.

“You have the physical strength to escape her.” Her breath was fluid against the curve of his ear.

Fingers digging into the rich, black earth, Dean forced his head up, eyes focusing on his ghostly companion’s face, sweet and sad in the dim light. “How?” he asked.

She smiled. “Think of the ones you love. Let their love fuel your flight from the darkness.”

***

Standing in the center of the kitchen, face to face, Amadis and Gadreel met one another’s gaze. There was fear shining in Gadreel’s borrowed eyes compared to the eerie calmness in those of the man in front of him. A storm brewed outside sky; sickly green tinted nightmare promising devastation and death to any who dared venture beyond the walls of the farmhouse.

“Get on with it,” Cain growled attention never moving from the window where he watched the storm. “She’s opening a can of worms and I’m tired of playing nursemaid, Gadreel.”

Gadreel closed his eyes and inhaled, a sharp rush of ozone filled air. Inside, hidden away in shadows, Sam Winchester whispered assurances to him. He would be fine without him. He wanted his life back.

Despite his doubts, Gadreel peeled away from the body he regretted taking through subterfuge, the body he’d used to do an unthinkable thing he was surely damned for doing. The light of his grace flickered beneath human skin as if it were thin as aged parchment. It consumed his eyes and swelled from his throat until Sam’s voice was a distant memory. Rushing forward Gadreel spilled from between his vessel’s lips in a swirling vortex of blinding silver-blue light that filled the farmhouse.

Amadis flung his arms wide, lips parted, and Gadreel’s essence rushed forward at the sound of the new vessel’s soul welcoming him. There was no fear, no doubt, within Amadis. He understood more than Sam ever had. Within this cage of bone and flesh, the sweet scent of clover enveloped Gadreel invoking memories of the Garden and the purity it instilled. With those same celestial memories came other memories…Darker and smelling of copper, edged with the crimson tide of blood his failure had leveled upon humankind. He wept for the mistakes he’d made and for the loss of his own innocence. 

And then there was nothing except a sea of warm and somehow comforting darkness. It engulfed him, enfolded him, and whispered three simple words.

Forgiveness is yours.

At last, he was free.

***

A single word pulsated in Dean’s brain as he struggled to his feet, ghostly companion hovering in the swaying shadows. His legs shook beneath him as he stood the word growing in strength only to split into two words taking on a melodic rhythm. The notes of the rhythm seemed to flow over his abused flesh, hazy tickle of warmth against filthy skin. They rose from the damp earth beneath him, curling in between his toes, vines of pulsing emotion, warmth increasing as they twisted around his calves in a haunting dance of memory and promise. With each inch, they stabilized him and he discovered those words forming on bruised and bleeding lips.

Sammy

Castiel

Sammy

Castiel

“Sammy…” he whispered.

“Yes,” his companion spoke from the shadows. “He is waiting for you.”

Tears began forming in the corner of Dean’s bloodshot eyes as a vision formed in his mind of the brother he’d betrayed. This Sam was younger his face fresh and expression bright with hope. His spirit unbroken, no fractures or wounds from the pain he’d suffered over the past decade. He smiled and Dean felt his body growing stronger fed by the youthful light in familiar and loving eyes. 

“Castiel…”

Another image began to form, an image of an angel self-assured and not betrayed by his brothers and sisters. Eyes a crystalline blue shining with faith and purpose without a fleck of doubt, chapped lips of a willing vessel curved in a hint of a smile.

“Your angel awaits your return to the fold. He has one purpose in his existence…to protect and love you. He and Sam have the same path to walk.”

Dean took a deep breath, focusing on a spot across the room and forced the lingering stench of Abaddon’s scent from his memory. The wall began to ripple like a heat mirage rising from the desert floor in the distance and a door appeared.

He cursed Abaddon and all she’d made him suffer. He cursed Metatron as well and the deception he’d leveled against a fellow angel who’d taken Kevin’s life. Snuffing a young man’s life out as if a candle’s flame pinched out between moist fingers and leaving only darkness behind in its wake. After Lucifer and Michael, he’d believed the celestial fucktards had finished screwing him and Sam with their talk of destiny. There had been nothing further from the truth. He often wished for the good old days when the worst they’d had to face were vengeful spirits, wendigo, and werewolves.

Struggling across the room, he pictured Sam in his mind’s eye and wondered if something had happened during his captivity. The spirit who followed him had said Sam was waiting for him, but before Abaddon had whisked him away to this nightmare, Gadreel had still possessed his brother. He only had Castiel’s word Sam still existed, buried deep within his body. It was difficult to believe, yet he still couldn’t give up the last faint shred of hope he held close.

As he reached the wavering doorway, Colette reached out ethereal fingers icy against his arm and turned to face her. “What now?”

Her smile reminded him of his mother despite the dark hair and eyes. “Once you step through this door, Dean, everything will change. What you chose to do with those changes is strictly up to you. Remember you are in control and you alone.” With those final words she faded away, smile the last thing to vanish as if a human Cheshire cat.

Dean turned back to the wavering portal its unstable image promising escape in a flurry of color. Taking a deep breath, he stumbled forward through the opening sure it was nothing except an illusion and he would hit solid stone. Instead, he fell and he continued to fall, energy swirling around him in a vortex of light, dark, and the scent of ozone.

Falling he clung to those two images that had given him strength, Sam and Castiel…His brother and his best friend.

***

There were voices, one familiar and two he’d never heard in his life, all three were men. They seemed to be arguing amongst themselves about him. Lying quiet, eyes closed against the dim light fighting to pierce his eyelids he focused on their words.

“You said he would be fine.”

Castiel, he thought. He’d know that particular voice anywhere. Except this time there was far more emotion in his tone. To be blunt he sounded pissed nine ways to Sunday. That was a new sound for Castiel. More often than not, the angel was simply depressed or confused. There wasn’t a hint of confusion in his voice now.

“He will be.” 

This voice was gruff and yet there was an understanding undertone to it. It reminded him of Bobby on his more frustrated days when he’d gotten to the point of bashing stubborn heads together simply to knock sense into said heads.

“Then why is he still unconscious?” Castiel snapped.

A third voice chimed in. “He’s not unconscious. He’s taking the lay of the land.”

Sam opened one eye at that comment. Apparently, the jig was up. When his vision cleared he was looking up into three faces, two of which he didn’t know, and a third as familiar as own. 

“Cas?” he muttered.

“Thank god.” Castiel replied, relief shining in his eyes. “I thought perhaps these two had lied about…”

Sam frowned at the younger of the men and then realization hit him like a ton of bricks, “Gadreel?”

The young man nodded. “I had been told vessels often could recognize their former occupants, but I was unsure of its truth.”

With a snort, Sam pushed off the bed to a sitting position the room swimming for a second before he found his bearings. “Who’s the poor bastard this time?”

Gadreel’s expression changed; quick flash of silver in his eyes, “Far from a poor bastard, amigo. My name is Amadis and if Gadreel had bothered looking he would have found me long before now.”

Trying his best to shake away the odd energy sweeping around him, Sam turned to the third man. He was an impressive man, tall, lean, and with intense inhuman blue eyes. Something about him reminded Sam of his father, John, and yet it was something darker than John ever could have been. A soldier was what this man was, but not any old soldier…he was a leader.

“Cain.” He spoke hint of what might have been a smile beneath his thick beard. “But I imagine you already figured that one out, Sam.”

Of the reactions he could’ve had, Cain hadn’t expected this. Sam raised one eyebrow in amusement, brow wrinkled beneath shaggy hair as he slipped from the bed and stood causing Cain to back up a few inches. He was impressed and understood implicitly why Lucifer had chosen this one. Sam stood a few inches taller and he was no slouch in the height department. Although, it wasn’t simply his height but rather his bearing as well, almost regal, and Cain could see why this one had been marked as Lucifer’s vessel from birth.

“Cain? As in Cain and Abel,” the second half was no question, but rather a statement on Sam’s part. “And what exactly are you, Cain?” he began to circle Cain, eyes narrowed as if he were studying a bug beneath a microscope, “Demon, angel, or something far worse?”

At his question, the corner of Cain’s mouth quirked up, “Something far worse.”

***

Abaddon stood over the pool, arms folded over her chest, and eyes narrowed as she watched the viscous fluid swirl downward into a whirlpool of darkness. At the center was a pinprick of light, a flicker of flame against the blackness as if a wind whipped candle’s wick. She’d expected Dean to escape, she’d needed him to, but what she hadn’t expected was Colette.

She’d never forgotten the other woman. The woman, who’d drawn Cain away from his brethren, inspired him to leave his calling, to leave her bed cold and empty. So frail a human woman the core of Abaddon’s rotted soul sickened. Abaddon could lie to everyone else, but she couldn’t lie to herself…She never could in the end. Even if Cain hadn’t thrust the blade into the bitch’s gut she would have been dead the moment Abaddon fled. Abaddon had made sure of that as she’d systematically shattered every single bone in Colette’s spinal column.

“What bothers you, Sister?”

With a snort, Abaddon turned from the pool and began pacing never once looking at the Witch. Leave it up to one of the most ancient seers to worm her way past the barriers she’d erected. Dig into her brain with the veracity of a Hellhound into a damned soul.

“Colette,” it was the only word she could manage from between clenched teeth, “it’s always that bitch.”

The Witch glided across the floor toward the still spinning pool. Long fingers lowering she broke the swirling motion, blood dripping from her nails as she lifted her hand to her mouth. Slowly, she tasted the blood, eyes going blacker than black. “Why worry yourself about a human soul? This Colette is more help than hindrance.”

Abaddon turned to glare at the other woman. “And how, dear sweet Sister, do you come to that conclusion? If not for that interfering cunt, I would not find myself in this predicament. Because of her Cain left our ranks and then systematically killed us off one by one.”

Lips stained crimson with the blood she’d tasted, the Witch’s smile widened. “You, my dearest, were the cause of the slaughter and the sooner you admit it the better. Had you simply let Cain go he would have allowed you and yours to continue, but then you never were one to let things go…Were you?”

Her eyes narrowed, face flushed in anger even though she knew the Witch was right. Even human she’d been stubborn and self-important with no sight in end. She’d been the cause of her own demise then because she’d believed herself untouchable, one of the aristocracy, and beyond reproach. What she hadn’t counted on was the audacity and political machismo the others in her class possessed. Had she given them the courtesy they so richly deserved she would have lived a long life and died of old-age in her own bed rather than bricked up in a room from the singular thing she required to achieve her own twisted version of happiness.

In other words, she’d been what these modern men called an uppity bitch.

Releasing a ragged breathe, she rubbed at the knot of frustration forming between her eyebrows. The one thing she never learned was to deny anything she desired. Cain had been her leader, friend and lover. When he’d abandoned the Knights for a human lover, it stuck in her craw, and only Lucifer would have understood why she went after Colette with inane viciousness. Even killing the bitch hadn’t gotten her what she wanted. All it had accomplished was to drive the wedge between her and Cain deeper. 

“This Winchester, why must you have him?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Must I continue to justify my motivations?” Abaddon snarled.

Clucking her tongue against her teeth, the Witch began circling Abaddon reminding the demon of a starving vulture. “You claim you want both my help and Ophelia’s, yet you refuse to listen to our council. Ophelia is not like me, Sister. She is an abomination in the eyes of both Heaven and Hell. She chose to serve you for reasons only she can fathom. She can change her mind far quicker than you might imagine.”

“She won’t.”

“She might with the way you’ve been acting. Do you want to make enemies with a being who walks through the ether as if it were a casual Sunday stroll in a park?”

Abaddon considered the Witch’s words before answering. “He is destined to rule Hell by my side.”

“By whose decree does he hold that destiny?”

“By mine.” she hissed.

“He is only human.” The Witch offered.

Eyes flashing black, Abaddon headed for the chamber door. “He is far more than that seer. He was born to serve Heaven, yet the Grand Inquisitor of Hell claimed him.”

“And we all know how that ended…Don’t we?” the Witch whispered as Abaddon vanished from sight.

***

“Where is my brother?”

The other three men in the room looked at Sam as if he’d grown a third arm as he paced the kitchen floor, fingers running through already tangled hair. No one would have guessed a few hours before an angel had been squatting in Sam. Hell, Gadreel had been convinced if he were to abandon Sam neither might survive and here he was demanding answers none of them had.

Sam stopped mid-stride and glanced up from the floor, eyes furious. “How the hell did Abaddon get inside the bunker?”

“She didn’t.” Gadreel answered. “She sent humans in, humans who tapped into magic they shouldn’t have been able to.”

“Perfect,” Sam growled. “There’s a great deal of that going around.”

Castiel frowned. “It doesn’t matter how they did it. This is my fault. I promised him he was safe and…”

From across the room, Cain interrupted. “It’s not anyone’s fault other than that demonic whore. She’s planning something and Abaddon conniving is never a good thing. What we need is to track your brother down and the best way I know how isn’t pleasant in the least.”

“How do we do it?” Sam demanded.

“Blood magic,” Gadreel replied, “but not the type you’re thinking of, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows drew together, wrinkles creasing his forehead. “I’m aware there is more than one type of blood magic. Every culture has some version of it.”

“In this case they’re speaking of blood as in family.” Castiel spoke up. “It’s ancient and deadly if done in a careless fashion.”

Considering what the men with him were offering didn’t take much thought. Yes, he was pissed at Dean for tricking him into letting Gadreel possess his body and yet Dean was still his brother. Hell, Dean was more than his brother growing up he’d been Sam’s everything...mother, father, brother, and best friend.

“Tell me how it works.”

Castiel was in front of Sam with a suddenness that startled him, the angel catching his furious gaze with an ease no other being could have. He shuddered as Castiel reached out fingers curling around his bicep and squeezing hard enough to be on the edge of pain.

“You can’t do this, Sam. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s Dean,” he replied.

Castiel’s hand dropped and he turned away, eyes shining with what appeared to be tears. It had torn him up inside when they’d discovered Dean gone from the bunker, cast away in silence, leaving only a dark patch of drying blood behind. He’d known it was Abaddon. Who else could it have been? The vile stench she left behind had dug deep beneath his skin, burrowing into his bones. He’d failed Dean and now he was about to fail him again. The thought of Sam risking his immortal soul yet again sickened him to the core of his stolen grace. When had things twisted? How had he become this creature torn between humanity and his own kind? Separated from a home he’d fought so desperately for and lost.

“I know.” He whispered.

“Then it’s settled.” Cain spoke up. “We need a few items and your demon friend Crowley can help.”

Without a word, Castiel vanished in a flurry of wings.

***

It wasn’t that he was frightened. He’d have his bones incinerated to dust before he admitted to being frightened of that bitch Abaddon. How would it appear if the self-proclaimed King of Hell admitted to anything other than pure contempt for the ginger twat who believed herself heir apparent to Lucifer’s kingdom?

Crowley sighed as he paced his own personal hell, fingers gliding over half-rusted metal storage shelves overloaded with the strangest of oddities in jars and boxes. It hadn’t surprised him in the least when Cain convinced the littlest angel and the serpent’s butt buddy to lock him back in here while they skipped the light fantastic to what he was sure would become their graves. Crowley knew he could be a bit self-absorbed and cocky (what King of Hell wouldn’t be?) yet when it came to Abaddon, he had no delusions self-absorbed or otherwise. 

He paused, mid-circuit around the room lips curved in a wicked smirk. “Well then, love, has Cain and the lot of you come to your bloody senses at last?”

“He sent me to retrieve you.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder to where Castiel stood in the shadows face stark and colorless against the darkness. The feather duster appeared to be frightened out of his wits. Turning around he took a few steps closer, head cocked looking too much the ravenous raven studying something shiny. Castiel flinched. 

Demons made Castiel nervous and Crowley was no exception. Since he’d made the deal with the bastard, an attempt (albeit a foolish one) to save Heaven from Raphael’s schemes he’d learned not to trust anyone least of all a demon. It had ended with him ashamed of his actions and ultimately with his death at the hands of the Leviathans. He couldn’t see this fool’s errand ending any different.

“Cain wants little old me?”

“Yes.” Castiel replied looking anywhere other than at Crowley.

Amusement flickered in the demon’s eyes. It was apparent whatever Cain required from him that dear, sweet Castiel wasn’t in agreement with it. “Now what could the Original Sinner, the Father of Murder, need from a demon he looks down his nose at?”

“I have no idea.”

“Really…No idea at all?” he purred taking pleasure in Castiel’s best attempts to ignore him. “I find that hard to believe, love.”

Castiel snorted, “Believe what you will.”

“Indeed I will. Now shall we be on our way?”

***

Ben sat eyes locked on a poster for the Spring Fling Dance on the bulletin board in front of him. He hated these sessions with the school counselor, but after his outburst with that dick Randy Metzler there had been no arguing with his mom or the principal. Violence was never the answer or so they both told him, but it had felt damn good when his fist connected with Randy’s nose. The shit thought because he was a junior he had the right to pick on a freshman. He didn’t think that anymore.

His smile faded as his thoughts drifted to why he was so angry…the dreams.

The dreams had started about a year after the car accident he and his mom had been in. They were random at first. Eventually though they’d started to come every night. Images of people with solid black eyes, even an image of his mom with those eyes and that one had freaked him out for a week. He knew his mom had suspected something was going on, but she hadn’t pushed it. 

Then the incident (as they liked to call it) had happened with Randy. The douche nozzle had been picking on one of the other freshman, a skinny little dude named Barry. Barry was one of those types who kept to himself, head down and prayed no one would notice him. Ben didn’t much care for Randy or his group who picked, poked, and prodded the younger kids, typical bullies. They’d shove kids in lockers, trashcans, dunk their heads in toilets, or yank their gym shorts down in front of the entire class. They never punished Randy because he was a jock and his dad was a wealthy council member, a local attorney with more money and power than God had.

That particular day Ben had been running on two hours of sleep and enough caffeine to caffeinate a third world country. The dreams had been getting more detailed, more terrifying, and at the center of them was a man, not some random stranger, but rather the man who’d hit their car all those years ago. Ben felt as if he knew this man more than he did, although why he couldn’t say. The man was handsome for a dude he figured, not that he paid much attention to things like that. He’d seen him for less than five minutes in the hospital when he’d stopped by to apologize for his careless driving. The stranger seemed sad and lost for reasons Ben couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“Ben?”

Snapped from his thoughts, Ben glanced up at Ms. Ackers, the counselor, and offered her a smile. For a counselor she wasn’t so bad. She never pushed him, leaving their sessions together a pleasant experience or as pleasant as seeing a shrink could be. She reminded him of those pictures he’d seen of hippies from the 1960’s with long flowing hair and sharp blue eyes, her clothes not the stuffy sort one would imagine for someone in her line of business.

“Hey, Ms. Ackers, on time like I promised.” He stood, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

Her smile was bright when she spoke. “What have I told you, Ben? Call me Ophelia.”

***

Ice.

His skin felt brittle and cold as if a film of ice over water. His soul was the water, rushing and swirling beneath, fighting for release. Perhaps, he was dead or maybe his death was wishful thinking.

From the moment Abaddon had touched his body he’d known she saw what he’d fought so fucking hard to hide from the world. In Hell he’d faced his darkest fears day in and day out, but in Hell, there was no differences between the two. The hours, days, weeks ran together in a mass of swirling blood and viscera, a mad man’s brush smearing colors together until nothing remained except black. Time meant nothing in the madness even though he’d tried to make Sam understand he never did. Eventually though his brother learned the hard way.

It hurt to breathe. His guts twisted in a knot.

He was falling faster than before and when his descent halted, the pain was excruciating. 

No air and pain brighter than anything he’d ever felt before. Not even Alastair had been capable of this kind of pain. He felt shattered into splinters of light and shadow each shard razor keen. It seemed an eternity before he attempted to open his eyes. As his eyelids fluttered open everything was a smudge of darkness interspersed with the occasional flicker of light so bright he’d squeeze his aching eyes shut.

When Dean was able to focus on his surroundings, it was to see lightning tear through the inside of midnight clouds ripping them to shreds and loosing icy rain cold on his skin. He groaned as he pushed from the ground, blinking rain from his eyes, as it became a chill torrent washing the blood and dirt from his naked body. There was a familiarity all to terrifying to this scenario. The last time though he’d dug his way out of his own coffin and the day had been blinding with unfettered sunlight. 

Struggling to his feet, he looked around him and realized the result was much the same. Granted this time it was tall grasses flattened out around him and not trees, but it was still awe-inspiring. He forced one foot in front of the other, mud slick between his toes. Concentric circles moved ever outward as if someone or something had dropped a giant stone in an even bigger lake. He was the stone and the grass was the lake. 

Inside his head, his thoughts were a mass of confusion, images of what Abaddon had done to him interspersed with others that made no sense. There were flashes of yellowed bone and teeth, oceans of blood, and the screams of the dead echoed in his ears. He clutched his hands over his ears soldiering on through the storm the occasional glimpse of flickering shadows haunting his peripheral vision as if the souls of the dead were guiding him through the dark field. Sweet smell of clover filled his senses with the comforting memories of a past to which he could never return. Memories of he and his brother from a life so removed from this he believed they were simply a dream given corporeal form.

Lifting his gaze from the ground he squinted against the rain sure he’d seen lights in the distance. The screams began to fade to whispers as he continued hands dropping and arms hanging limp at his sides. He couldn’t quite make out what the voices were whispering at first then they grew in intensity. It sounded like a chorus chanting, almost demanding he agree.

The Mark

It belongs to you

The Mark

He released a breath he’d been unaware he was holding and the sky lit up with a spectacular display of lightning followed by the deep rumble of thunder. Ahead of him in the ripple of light a cluster of shadows appeared punctuated by the soft glow of lamp light…A farm.

***

Sam was pacing and it made Cain twitch, nerves on end. The Mark on his forearm burned and itched as if it knew something he didn’t. Cain hated the feeling. He hated not knowing why or how after over a century he could feel the burn of hellfire beneath his skin. It had to be that meddling bitch’s fault. There was no other explanation. The last time he’d felt it was the night he’d hunted her and the remaining Knights of Hell down, after she’d possessed Colette. 

He pushed back the curtain at the window and stared out into the darkness. “Would you please stop that?”

Stopping mid-stride Sam turned toward him, eyebrows drawn together in what had become a perpetual frown since Gadreel’s exit. “What?”

“The pacing,” Cain growled low in his throat. “It’s getting on my god damn nerves.”

Sam’s mouth opened as if he were about to shoot a snide comment back and then reconsidered anything he had to say. Crossing the room, he pulled a beer from the refrigerator instead and joined Amadis at the kitchen table where he’d remained silent and watching since Castiel’s exit. It seemed Gadreel had nothing to say or perhaps he was peacefully resting behind Amadis’ dark eyes.

“He never meant to hurt you.”

Sam glanced up when Amadis spoke. “The path to Hell is paved with good intentions. I should know that better than anyone.”

The curve of Amadis’ lips tipped in a forlorn smile. “Very true,” his gaze shifted to where Cain stood staring out the window. “Love can make a man do wicked things. We humans believe our actions can be justified through our intentions, but…”

“…they never are.” Sam finished.

Tipping the beer to his lips Sam took a deep swallow. He’d been aware the entire time Gadreel possessed him. The man Dean had believed was his brother was not. Sam had never surfaced because the pain he felt fed on the anger against Dean for taking away his choice to die. For one brief moment in the abandoned church, he’d believed he was doing the right thing. He’d believed he deserved to die after all the wicked things he’d done in the name of love and salvation. The Trials were his road to forgiveness in the eyes of a God he wasn’t even sure he trusted any longer. And then Dean had saved him from his weak attempt at saving his own soul. It was a momentary slip, into the child he’d been, sure his big brother would find a way as he always did to protect him.

Then he’d heard the chorus of screams. His body wracked with pain so intense he’d flashed back to his time trapped with Lucifer and Michael in the Cage. Afterward there had been nothing except darkness and when he woke, he’d been in the Impala again. Everything had been fine, but it wasn’t. 

Even trapped in a coma, dreaming, some part of him had known it wasn’t real. When Death appeared, he was ready to go. Whatever had happened after Dean had convinced him to stop the final trial had torn his insides to shreds. All he wanted was for it to end…All of it.

“Beating yourself up over the past does no one any good, hermãno.” 

Sam released a ragged breath, tears forming in his eyes. “You have no idea what I’ve done or what I’m willing to do for my brother.” 

“Don’t I?”

He looked up from the floor to meet Amadis’ intense gaze and his gut twisted in a knot. There was no doubt in his mind this stranger who’d welcomed Gadreel with open arms when he’d finally released him knew what he’d done. That knowledge Amadis had was not from the angel squatting in his body, but rather from some other source. Sam didn’t want to think any further on who or what that source might be.

Fingers tightening around the slick bottle he took another swig before refocusing his attentions elsewhere. “What the hell is taking Castiel so…”

Before he could finish his thought, Cain let out a deep howl of pain and fell to his knees. Amadis was on his feet and across the room before the source of the sound registered with Sam. Cain clutched his right arm and gritted his teeth as he warned Amadis off with a blistering glare.

“Don’t!”

Amadis froze as Sam approached, beer forgotten on the kitchen table. He studied the two men with narrow eyes unsure what the hell had happened. It was then Sam noticed something that made his gut churn further. Cain’s forearm threaded with veins of molten red light. It reminded Sam of the agony he’d experienced in the church. It reminded him of the hellfire he’d endured in the Cage.

“What the hell is that?” he demanded as Cain struggled to his feet.

Cain turned on Sam eyes wild with fury. “He’s near.”

“Who’s near?” Sam questioned.

“The man Cain came in search of,” Amadis offered. 

“What man?” Sam demanded.

“Your brother,” Cain answered.

***

Ophelia glided across the cold stone on bare feet, smile creeping across her pale face, eyes burning bright with blue flames. She knew what or rather whom Abaddon was watching without even asking the demon. She was obsessed, consumed with the desire to possess the Winchester man.

“What do you want, Ophelia?” she spit out as the woman approached on silent feet. “I’ve had enough crap for one day.”

Laughter rippled through the still air as Ophelia halted next to her, eerie eyes shifting to the swirling pool of blood and the image within it. “I thought you would be happy. After all the Endor bitch—excuse me—witch informed me you had gotten lustful hands on the Winchester’s cock.”

Abaddon knew Ophelia was prodding her buttons. The bitch was a thorn in her side, yet she needed her if she were to have the power to control Hell. It never ceased to amaze Abaddon what Ophelia was capable of whether evil or good. “I did.”

“Then why is he not kneeling between your thighs and offering you the pleasures of his tongue?”

Sighing Abaddon waved her hand over the pool and the image of Dean Winchester faded away. “He wasn’t yet quite ready to stand at my side in Hell.”

“I imagine not, considering he is still human. What do you plan to do about that particular problem?”

With a snort, Abaddon turned her back and walked across the room to where a huge ornate mirror stood, surface smooth and bright as still water. She smiled at her reflection, flash of brilliant white between crimson lips. “You need not concern yourself with that, Ophelia. Dean is exactly where he needs to be. For such a smart man he is easily deceived.”

Ophelia hummed to herself. “And what if this particular plan fails? After all, those two brothers are infamous for destroying the best-laid plans of demons and angels. Look at Azazel, Lucifer, Michael, Rafael…need I continue?”

“I am far more intelligent than those fools.”

“Is that so?” Ophelia lifted one eyebrow in amusement.

“Oh, yes, darling.” she smoothed fingers through lush red hair. “Do you know what this is?”

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed as she studied the mirror. “I would be a fool not to know. How you managed to get your wicked claws on it I will never know. I was under the impression only humans could touch that thing.”

“You would be correct.” Abaddon chuckled. “Humans sell their souls with such ease. I discovered it in—of all places—an antique shop in Kansas. Flash a little tit and ass, a seductive smile, and you can get some young man to sell his mother down the river.”

“Then I assume you are aware you need a human to make that damned piece of glass work. And not just any human either.”

Abaddon frowned. “Yes, I am aware. That particular part I haven’t yet ironed out.”

Moving across the room, Ophelia lifted one porcelain hand to settle on Abaddon’s shoulder. “What if I told you I had?”

Spinning Abaddon eyed Ophelia as if she’d gone bat-shit crazy. “Impossible. You didn’t even know I had this thing.”

Ophelia smiled. “Perhaps not, but I was busy creating a back-up plan in case you fucked this up.”

“And what may I ask was this back-up plan?”

Her smile widened into a wicked rictus. “Would you believe I’ve discovered and befriended Dean Winchester’s son?”

***

It seemed as if he’d been walking for an eternity. Lash of rain icy against his naked skin. The voices continued to whisper encouragement at his ear as he stumbled blinded by the rain toward the farm. It was his only hope for salvation. Why he believed that Dean couldn’t say, but he knew it in the depths of his gut.

He’d managed to get to the weathered split rail fence surrounding what appeared to be a yard when he lost what little strength he had. Heart thundering in his chest he collapsed to his knees, gravel biting and tearing at them. He was sure this was it. He’d never see Sam or Castiel again. Some poor, oblivious farmer would come out at dawn to find his ravaged body lifeless in his yard.

As he knelt there, rain pelting his hunched back, a howl rose from the darkness. He’d heard sounds like that only one fucking place in his life—Hell. Forcing his head up, water dripping in his eyes, he searched the darkness certain he would discover he’d never escaped Hell in the first place. That all of these years had simply been another of Alastair’s games to manipulate and torture him. The very thought made him want to vomit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

The windows of the farmhouse once alight with warm gold began to shift to a burning red. With the shift in color came a surge of energy and Dean was suddenly on his feet. Above him, the sky erupted into a mass of lightning, brilliant strands of electricity plummeting from the storm swept sky to cleave open clouds and set trees aflame. 

***

“Dean? You came here looking for my brother…Why?” furious Sam wanted to smash something, anything at all. 

Cain turned from the window brows drawn together, “You really do not have a clue what you and your brother are…Do you?”

Snorting in disgust, Sam moved toward Cain, fists clenched so hard blood welled up around his fingernails. “Yeah, I know what we are! We’re eternal pawns in this endless fucked up chess game between Heaven and Hell!”

The last thing he expected was for Cain to burst out laughing, doubled over with the intensity of whatever he found amusing in Sam’s words, “Pawns? Dear God, you two are either incredibly stupid or damned good at hiding what you know.”

Sam wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug expression off Cain’s face with his fist, but before he could Castiel appeared between them, Crowley in tow. He lowered his fist at the curious expression on Castiel’s face unaware he’d even begun to raise it. Crowley on the other hand didn’t seem curious in the least as his gaze flicked between Sam and Cain.

“What is happening?” Castiel demanded, curiosity fleeing in the path of his obvious anger.

“Nothing,” Sam offered, eyes shifting to the floor where drops of crimson spattered the hardwood floor, “Nothing at all.” 

Castiel wasn’t buying it. “You’re bleeding.”

Shrugging, Sam walked away. He wasn’t in the mood for any of this crap. All he wanted was his brother back, safe from Abaddon and her wicked plans. He was so tired of being a pawn and a pawn was what he and Dean had been for years, hell, for their entire lives. Meat suits for demons, vessels for angels, you name it. Every fucking supernatural ass-hat in the damned universe had used them at some point.

“Sam, talk to me.” 

Fuck if he wanted to talk to anyone, least of all Castiel. Sam knew if he turned around the angel would be looking at him with those damned eyes that bore right through his soul. Hell, even Castiel had used them although he’d at least believed he was doing the right thing. Leaning against the edge of the counter, hands slick with blood Sam wanted to be angry with him as well, but he couldn’t be angry.

“Cain came here for Dean.”

Castiel released a faint breathe. “Yes, he did.”

Head lifted, Sam focused on the plaster ceiling. “Do you know why?”

Sam knew it was a dangerous question even as the words slipped past his lips. How dangerous it was depended on Castiel’s answer.

“I don’t know.” He offered.

“Don’t lie to me,” Sam hissed. “I need to know the truth. If you don’t want me playing their game then I need to know.”

Castiel shook his head. “I cannot tell you what I don’t know. He appeared at the bunker after Dean’s abduction. He claimed he was there to help us destroy Abaddon.”

Turning away, Sam began pacing again, fingers threaded in his hair. None of this made any sense. If Cain was here to destroy Abaddon then why did he need Dean?

“Because, I made a promise long ago to someone I loved. I don’t plan on breaking my promise and the Mark has honed in on your brother,” Cain replied.

“The Mark…Are we talking about the Mark God cursed you with?” Sam demanded in fear.

Cain shook his head. “God had nothing to do with the curse I’ve endured. As I told your feathery friend your Bible has the story wrong.”

“Then enlighten me, Cain. Who cursed you? And what does it have to do with my brother?”

“Lucifer.” he replied. “My brother was speaking with Lucifer not God. Lucifer wanted him for a plaything, but I wasn’t going to watch my baby brother walk down that path…sound familiar?”

Yes, it sounded familiar in the worst way. Sam’s thoughts drifted back to a time before when a beautiful demon named Ruby had convinced him he could stop Lucifer from rising. How he’d believed her lies with the innocence of a child. How her lies had cleaved his relationship with his brother apart and then led him to his downfall. He’d done exactly what they’d wanted. As he realized what he’d done their father’s words to Dean had appeared with a sudden clarity. 

Dean, you have to save Sam, but if you can’t then you’ll have to kill him.

They say hindsight is 20/20 and this case they were right. John had warned Dean and Sam being the stubborn, angry fool had refused to listen to anything Dean or their dead father had to offer. Sometimes the smartest people made the most foolish choices. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. At least that was what he told himself standing there gaze never leaving Cain’s, but then he’d said the same before. He glanced at Castiel in desperation hoping the angel had some nugget of wisdom to offer. After all, he’d seen more than Sam could ever hope to see. When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to Gadreel, Amadis, or whoever the fuck he was his hope of making the right choice fading away. 

“Tell him what you did, Cain.” Amadis’ voice was gentle but not quite soothing. “Tell him how the Mark came to be with you.”

Sam shook his head, confused at the way the words sounded. “You act as if the Mark is…”

“Sentient?” Cain offered. 

“Yes.”

Cain lifted his arm, pulse of eerie crimson beneath his skin growing brighter again. “It is in a way. Lucifer was brilliant when it came to magic and the manipulation of it. He was his father’s brightest warrior and his most dangerous. I doubt I was the first to get a taste of his power and I won’t be his last.”

He considered Cain’s words as his thoughts drifted back to his possession by Lucifer. The fallen angel had seemed justified in everything thing he’d done. How he’d told Sam repeatedly he’d done what he had out of love. Sam understood the idea of travelling dark paths to save the ones you loved, he’d done it himself, but he was human—flawed—and Lucifer had been so much more. 

“Why does it want Dean?” he asked at last.

Cain moved closer lifting his gaze from the Mark to look on Sam’s downcast expression. “It sees in your brother what it once saw in me…someone desperate to protect what he loves. Desperate enough to dance with Lucifer himself if that’s what it takes.”

“So, it sees the darkness in a man’s soul.” It was statement rather than question. “What does it do with the darkness it finds?”

“It feeds on it and the more it feeds, the more it wants.”

***

The power of the storm seemed to guide Dean back to his feet, whispers of the souls surrounding him fading to a faint hum beneath its fury. He wanted no part of what the storm offered and yet…

Stumbling across the yard of the farmhouse, Dean gritted his teeth, agony bright as the lightning in the night sky. The closer he came to the building the stronger he felt. He had no explanation for this sudden surge of strength. It scared the shit out of him and he wanted to die before he discovered what was calling him toward the only shelter he’d seen for miles.

Come

Beneath the howling wind, he swore he heard a voice. His body vibrated, every muscle twitching as if he’d grabbed a high voltage wire. One foot in front of the other, he struggled with the power crying out to him. There was no winning. Something wanted him here and Dean no longer had the strength to fight it considering Abaddon had drained him dry.

He was there, wooden steps beneath his bare feet, and the voice turned to wicked laughter.

***

Sam was scared out of his wits, but he wasn’t about to let Cain or anyone else in that room know. The idea the Mark was sentient was more than his mind could wrap around. The idea it had latched onto his brother’s scent was even worse. Hadn’t they suffered enough? What more could the universe level against them?

Outside a sudden noise captured his attention. Without a word, he moved toward the door wondering if Abaddon had finally crawled out of the hole she’d hidden in after taking his brother. As his hand settled on the doorknob, he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He spun to look into Castiel’s intense eyes and shrugged away.

“It’s Dean.” The angel whispered eyes as huge as saucers.

Sam sucked in a shocked breath and reached back to open the door. The wind outside flung the door open, tearing it from his grasp, and rain poured through in a deluge. From the storm, a shadow slipped and as the light dispersed the darkness it took form…beaten, bloody, and naked he stepped from the storm with a cry of agony falling into Sam’s arms.

“Dean,” he gasped taking his brother’s weight into his arms as they both tumbled to the floor.

Cain moved across the room, muscles flexing as he forced the storm back into the night behind the door, sliding the bolt. Behind him, Castiel knelt in the floor next to the two brothers he’d watched over for longer than he cared to admit. He exchanged a glance with Sam as Amadis appeared with a thick comforter, covering Dean’s abused body with an expression of concern. The only one not moving was Crowley, but the look on his face said more than enough had anyone been paying attention.

“Dean, can you hear me? It’s Sam…”

Groaning, Dean’s eyes rolled in their sockets from face to face as if he were searching for someone…or something, Cain thought as he backed away. The sear of the Mark beneath his skin flared again and he feared he already knew what Dean was searching for in the room. He could smell the scent of that Hell bitch Abaddon on him. She’d done something unthinkable to any of those in the room except him and…

“Bollocks!” Crowley snarled. “That pasty Hell born ginger has been playing with things she has no bloody business playing with.”

Head snapping up, Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell, Crowley?”

It was as if Sam were invisible Crowley’s attention focused on Cain and Cain alone. “You need to leave!”

Cain raised one eyebrow. “And exactly why would I do that?”

Deep in his gut Sam knew the shit was about to hit the fan. 

“You bloody well know why, Cain.” Crowley growled, “Unless of course you want to pass it on.”

“Pass what on?” Sam demanded.

Crowley’s head spun, eyes narrowed in Sam’s direction with a snort. “Come now, Moose, you can’t be that stupid…Or can you?”

With those words, a look of understanding dawned on Sam’s face. Crowley had to be joking, but he knew in his gut the demon wasn’t. He was talking about the fucking Mark. Dean was searching for the damn thing, moaning in anguish, and Cain was within touching distance, veins in his arm glowing with crimson hellfire. The light pulsed with each beat of Cain’s demonic heart and Sam felt his throat closing in horror. The thing was alive and it was calling to his brother. How else could Dean have escaped from Abaddon, finding his way here when he’d never met Cain.

He pulled Dean tighter to his chest, eyes flashing with fury. “Get out of here, Cain! Get away from my brother!”

Between gritted teeth, Cain hissed in agony, “I can’t…it won’t let me.”

Sam pushed Dean into Castiel’s arms. “Get him out of here…Now!”

He was on his feet and across the room before anyone could stop him, intent clear in his eyes. One way or another Cain was leaving and if he had to throw his demonic ass out, he intended to do exactly that.

Two things happened in the same second. The flutter of Castiel’s wings as he slipped into the ether, Dean crying out as they vanished and Sam being flung across the room into the furthest wall, all the air exploding from his lungs in a whoosh. Head spinning, Sam struggled to his feet waving off Amadis’ attempt to help. 

“Get the fuck off me!” he roared trying to get past the other man.

Amadis’ eyes flared with silver light as he engulfed Sam in his arms. “You cannot do this, Samuel.”

“Fuck off, Gadreel! He’s leaving here, even if it kills me.”

“And you will die!” Cain roared as he struggled to control his own body. “You don’t understand what you’re standing in the way of, boy!”

Struggling against Gadreel’s embrace, face flushed with anger, Sam began dragging the angel across the room toward Cain, “Really? Then explain it to me, Cain!” he spit out.

Cain’s eyebrows drew together in an ominous frown, teeth a flash of white against his beard. “The Mark has decided who it wants and once it’s decided there is no arguing with it. There is no getting between it and the carrier it has chosen.”

“My brother isn’t evil!” Sam snapped wrenching from Gadreel’s grip.

Eyes narrowing, Cain began laughing, a humorless sound. “You seem to forget, Sam. I wasn’t either.”

***

Materializing in the bunker, Castiel collapsed beneath Dean’s dead weight, knees hitting hard marble with a crack, wings pulling inward. In his arms, Dean moaned in pain and God help him Castiel began weeping in silence. If he understood that damned curse there was no way Dean could escape its call without losing his life. He couldn’t bear to lose Dean to the darkness, not after everything they had been through in the past few years.

“Sam…”

He glanced down as Dean moaned his brother’s name. “Dean, it’s me Castiel.”

Eyes fluttering open, bloodshot and pain filled, Dean offered a weak smile. “Cas, I’m sorry…”

Castiel shook his head. “You told me not to apologize for anything I did and you need never do so either.”

He started to speak again only to have a coughing fit interrupt him, blood staining his lips. The sound was wet and deep in his chest. It made Castiel cringe because he knew there was something broken inside his charge.

“It wants me.” Dean whispered.

“What wants you? What did she do to you?”

“You know what wants me…it called…take me back…” shuddering in Castiel’s arms Dean began coughing again, breathe rattling in his chest.

“Sam…”

Dean shook his head. “Doesn’t understand…need it to kill her.”

Torn between all the human emotions welling up inside, Castiel wondered if he’d been damned to watch Dean’s soul be lost. Damned from the moment he’d entered Hell’s gates. Had everything he’d done good, bad, and ugly been destined to lead him here?

“No, there has to be another way.” He choked out. “The Mark will destroy you. It destroyed Cain…It damned his soul for eternity.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth curled in a rictus. “I was damned the minute I was born.”

Castiel refused to believe it. He’d held onto his faith, lost it, found it, and lost it again over the years he’d stood by the Winchester’s side. There had to be a way to save Dean from this latest bitter, blood-soaked chapter. Sam would be furious if he returned to Cain’s farm, but this was Dean, begging him to do so if only with his eyes.

“You’re too weak.”

Dean met his gaze one hand lifting to touch his cheek. “Not to say yes…take me back.”

***

“Damn that feathered dick!” 

Walking away from the scrying pool, Abaddon lifted her head and screamed in fury at the vaulted ceiling above her…So close and yet so far. She refused to give up. What she wanted she always got…

“You did not get Cain.”

Spinning on her heels, eyes obsidian and shining with power, she growled. “You need to shut up, Witch, before I rip the traitorous tongue from your mouth!”

The Witch lifted her arms flames leaping from her upturned palms. “I would love to see you try, Abaddon. You seem to have forgotten to whom you speak. Unlike that mongrel Ophelia I’ve never switched sides…I am and always will be in league with the darkness. Who is in control of the darkness matters not to me be it that fool Crowley or an idiot such as you.”

She considered trying for a moment and then decided not to push her luck, eyes shifting back to human in a flash. A breathe escaped her lungs she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “My apologies I…”

“You have left Hell to its own devices whilst you chase after this human. Even if he takes the Mark there are no guarantees you will be able to control him.” She lowered her hands, flames winking out as if they’d never existed. “I simply pointed out Cain as an example. Despite your best efforts he wiped out all the Knights except you and even after you tricked him into murdering his already dying wife he turned his back on you.”

“Point taken,” sniffing she moved back to the scrying pool, eyes flickering between human and demon.

Her nerves were on edge. The Witch was far closer on point than she would admit. Her obsession with Dean Winchester had pulled her attentions from Hell, but not far enough to make her lose control of her empire. Exhaling she glanced down at the swirling viscera of reddish-black. Perhaps she could use the blue-eyed feather duster’s desires against him. After all, she was a demon and that’s what demons did…Right?

***

“You’re a fool, boy!” Cain growled as Sam stared him down.

“Am I?” Sam had no desire to have yet another conversation about his personal decisions with some demonic dick. “Seems for the first time in my miserable life I’ve made the least foolish decision. You will not mark my brother.”

Before Cain could reply, Crowley was standing between them. “See that is where you’re wrong, Moose. Cain here doesn’t want to mark your brother.”

“Really?” he aimed a pointed look in the direction of the arm Cain clutched in pain. “It seems he does. What does it take for you black-eyed son of a bitches to back off?”

Crowley tutted, “Now, Moose…Do you really believe Cain would have come out of hiding just to pass his damned Mark to Squirrel? I’m quite sure he has better things to accomplish such as Abaddon.” 

“What about Abaddon?” Sam demanded.

With a frustrated sigh, Cain closed his eyes. “She was one of my Knights, but she wasn’t just a Knight.”

Sam snorted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“She was his best.” Crowley replied. “She was the wickedest and his right hand…Wasn’t she, Cain?”

“Yes,” he admitted through clenched teeth, eyes drifting open as the intensity of Mark’s glow began to fade. “She was also my lover.”

***

Dean could feel the pull of the Mark despite the distant separation. After what Abaddon had done, he still clung to what remained of his humanity. God save him but it was the only thing that could end the demonic bitch. Sitting on the edge of the chair, eyes focused on the top of Castiel’s bowed head Dean wondered how far any of them were willing to go. Few words had passed between them after he’d begged Cas to return him to wherever they’d been before. Cas had offered to heal his wounds, but he’d declined. Each and every mark Abaddon levered into his flesh he meant to keep as a reminder. 

“Cas, I’m sorry. There is no other way.”

Lifting his head, Castiel stared right through him with luminous eyes. “Someone once told me there is always another way.”

He swallowed back the taste of bile. “Not this time. God knows I wish there were.”

With a nod, Castiel stood, helping Dean to his feet. It was more acknowledgement than agreement to his words, but he’d take what he could. Castiel was right that he was weak. Abaddon had taken everything she could from him during his captivity. She hadn’t taken his choice to sacrifice his already tarnished soul though.

“Let’s go before Sam decides to make a stupid decision. One stupid decision is enough.”

***

“Give it to me.”

“He can’t.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed at Crowley. “Let him answer for himself.”

“He’s correct.” Cain replied, “I don’t decide, the Mark does.”

Fury rose from the pit of Sam’s stomach. He was sick of these games. Ten fucking years of the screw with the Winchesters was enough to drive any human insane. All he’d ever wanted was for his family to have a safe, happy life, but fate, angels, and demons alike had made it their endless mission to halt any hope he’d ever had. Dean had gotten the closest to that safe, happy life, but in the end, the demons (not to mention the soulless version of himself) had ended any hope there.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he howled at the ceiling. “What is it that attracts you bastards like cockroaches to a slime pit?”

There was the rush of wind and feathers and his answer came in Dean’s voice.

“It was me, Sam.”

He turned to see Dean pull away from Castiel and he glared at the angel whose eyes averted to the floor. God he wanted to be pissed Castiel hadn’t done as he said. Dean couldn’t be here if what Cain said was true. He never should’ve trusted those who even now conspired against him.

“Dean…”

Dean held up his hand as he limped toward Cain. “No arguments, Sammy. It was always me they were watching; First Michael and now this…I was supposed to protect you and no matter how hard I tried I always failed.” His gaze shifted toward Cain, “Just like you failed…Right?”

Nodding Cain moved toward Dean only to discover himself looking straight at the sharp end of the demon knife clutched tight in Sam’s fist. He drew back a few feet even as Dean reached out and grasp Sam’s wrist. Sam turned on Dean, eyes pleading for him to stop the insanity all the while Crowley and Gadreel watching on.

Dean met Sam’s teary gaze, hand lifting to cup his face. “Sometimes the only answer is to say yes.”

A shudder ran through Sam. He’d made the same decision when there had been no other option in their fight against Lucifer. He’d risked everything in hopes he could control Lucifer, but it had taken Lucifer nearly beating Dean to death before he’d found the strength to drag the bastard’s ass into the box along with Michael. 

“Dean, please.” He whispered. “Whatever she did to you…”

“Doesn’t matter what she did, Sammy. I’ve done worse to myself and the people I love.” He pulled Sam in a hug, face burrowed in his baby brother’s broad shoulder. “I have to do this or she’ll bring Hell to Earth and we’ll never see the end of the road.”

Swallowing back his tears, Sam lowered the knife as Dean pulled away. “What if there’s no coming back?”

Dean grinned, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

***

From the shadowed living room doorway, Collette watched unseen by any of the men. She’d walked alongside her husband from the moment he’d laid her to what he believed was her final rest. There had never been a doubt in her mind about returning to watch over him. Cain was what he was and although he’d committed atrocities (no human could imagine) she’d seen the man hidden in what remained of his soul. She saw the same thing in Dean Winchester. Neither of them recognized the strength buried within

The strength they possessed came from the love they had in their lives. For Cain, he had the love of Abel. That same love forced him to attempt ending his reign of terror with suicide long after Abel was gone. 

Collette turned with a smile as the sweet scent of clover drifted into the room behind her. A young man stood watching the scene unfold in the other room with tearful eyes.

“Did he ever forgive himself?” he questioned, eyes locked on Cain.

“Yes, eventually.”

“I’m glad.” He turned to her with a melancholy expression. “I’m glad he found you as well, Collette.”

“I know, Abel.” She replied.

***

There was nothing more to say. No argument that would stop Dean from taking the plunge although Sam wanted (hell prayed) for something…anything. He backed away as Dean straightened his back and shoulders approaching Cain. With each step he took the faint glow around the Mark branded in Cain’s arm increased in intensity.

“So how does this work?” Dean questioned.

For a split-second, Dean swore he saw regret in Cain’s intense gaze, but it vanished so quick he might have imagined it. “You only have to take my hand,” he held said hand out, bare arm a network of glowing veins beneath his skin spreading out from the Mark.

Dean raised one eyebrow, “Just take your hand…that’s it?”

Lifting his chin, Cain nodded. “But there is a price, Dean, a heavy one.”

“Don’t care as long as I can destroy that demonic bitch.”

As Cain drew close he leaned in, voice a low growl. “You do know who she was when she was human?”

Dean nodded.

“Be careful, Dean Winchester. You’ve only grazed the tip of the iceberg. Do not trifle with Abaddon in the least. She was vicious, murderous, and manipulative long before Lucifer laid his hands upon her. Her taste for blood and torture is legendary.”

Their eyes met and for the span of a heartbeat, Sam thought perhaps Dean had changed his mind. He prayed his brother would back away as the two men exchanged words. His prayers could never be answered he realized as Dean and Cain clasped hands.

His brother’s head flung back, body going stiff, as the blood red veins extended from Cain’s arm and wrapped around Dean’s arm in glowing vines of hellfire. The scream that erupted from his mouth sent icy splinters straight to Sam’s soul for he knew the sound all too well.

It was the voice of Hell.

***

It wasn’t a slow thing. It was vicious and violent as the Mark entered his body at Cain’s touch. Dean had thought he’d experienced pain in his life, but this was something beyond measure, even in his time in Hell wasn’t this bad. It was fire and ice in equal measure, flesh singed and frozen until every inch of his body cried out in torment.

And then the pain was gone.

Extinguished as if it had never been, yet there remained the lingering scent of blood and sulfur. Dean knew the odor well. It had filled his non-existent days and nights as Alastair had broken him in the depths of Hell years before. He wondered if Sam remembered it. For once, you smell Hell’s perfume you never forgot it.

The scent only emphasized the feel of creeping dread inside him. Had it been on the outside he might have compared it to silk or feathers teasing his skin. This sensation burrowed deep beneath skin and muscle though, drilling into his bones and travelling through his veins.

Dean

It was a whisper inside him not in his ear. It called to him as if a long lost lover spotted on the street of some city years after he’d last touched it. He wanted to deny the seductive whisper, yet it seemed to hypnotize him and capture his free will shredding it like so much tissue in its wake.

I’ve searched for you so long

His limbs quivered, head throbbing in harmony with a blood soaked crescendo of musical notes.

Be with me, Dean

Yes, he thought. Power and strength, strength enough to destroy Abaddon and end the pain, the shame this was what the voice would gift him.

You have nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of, Dean.

He’d told Sam sometimes you needed to say yes. The word clung to the tip of his tongue, crystalline drop of despair given form and yet he hesitated.

She’ll come for him next. After she’s tortured you and taken the last shred of whom you are, Dean. She’ll come for Sam and you won’t be able to stop her. Then who will stop her?

Dean shivered at the thought. 

Just say it

“Yes,” he cried giving in to the Mark’s whispered promise. “Yes, I accept.”

That was when the fire exploded out, consuming him, and wrapping around his soul in a cyclone of agony. He screamed until his voice gave out and the scent of blood infused his senses just as the scent of clover had when the spirit of Collette had appeared to him.

Then everything went black.

***

What happened did so in the matter of a few seconds, ended in a blinding flash. Everyone dived for cover in anticipation of a brutal explosion that never occurred. Smoke and the stench of sulfur filled the room along with a heatwave strong enough to singe the hair on Sam’s arms. He huddled behind the overturned table using it as a make shift shield and wondering what the hell to expect once the smoke cleared.

Messed up didn’t even begin to describe Dean’s mindset. It had been obvious as the nose on Sam’s face from the moment he’d said he would do the trials, but Sam had taken on the mantle. At the time, he’d told himself it was to protect Dean after everything his brother had been through. He’d lied though. It had been about his own guilt, the desire to find forgiveness from a god he wasn’t even sure he believed existed anymore.

Now though he wanted to believe again. He wanted the innocent faith back he’d once carried in his heart before he’d met his first true angel. Having met an angel had shattered his faith, not his belief, but his faith. He would sell his soul to recapture it, but then that was the Winchester way…Wasn’t it?

Pushing up on his knees, Sam peered over the edge of the table, eyes burning from the smoke. To his left he spied Castiel peering around the edge of the kitchen door. To his right was Crowley peeking from behind the upturned butcher-block table near the stove. Standing amidst the swirling smoke was Amadis or Gadreel he honestly couldn’t tell the difference until the other man spoke.

“You shouldn’t have said yes, Dean Winchester.”

The man’s voice boomed through the smoke. Definitely, Gadreel, Sam thought. There was a certain resonance in the voice of an angel. Particularly one who was pissed at what they viewed as the stupidity of a human. A sudden rush of wind filled the room and the smoke parted with the passing of air. Sam was positive it was Gadreel, but he recalled his wings nearly burned away in the fall. His gaze focused on a shadow moving through the opaque smoke. As the figure came into focus, his gut twisted into a massive knot.

It was Dean, but not the one he knew and yet…

All sign of the wounds inflicted on him by Abaddon no longer existed. No longer was he slumped in exhaustion, but rather he stood straight and strong. His hands flexed as he lifted his arms, staring at them as if he didn’t recognize his own body. Raised on his skin as if branded into his flesh and pulsing crimson was the Mark. Behind him, standing in silence was Cain, chin resting against his chest. 

Dean lifted his head, lips curved in a familiar smirk and focused on Sam’s horrified face. Fear raced through Sam as he noticed a glimmer of crimson in his brother’s eyes. 

“Time’s a wasting, Sammy. Let’s go slaughter some demon ass.”

TBC…


End file.
